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THE BOOK OF 


THE HAPPY WARRIOR 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

Tales of the Great War. With 7 Coloured 
Plates and 32 Illustrations in black-and- 
white by Norman Wilkinson and Chris- 
topher Clark. Crown 8vo. $1.75 net. 

The Book of the Thin Red Line. With 
8 Coloured Plates and 38 Illustrations 
in black-and-white by Stanley L. 
Wood. Crown 8vo. $1.50 net. 

The Book of the Blue Sea. With 8 
Coloured Plates and 32 Illustrations in 
black-and-white by Norman Wilkinson. 
Crown 8vo. $1.50 net. 


LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 

LONDON, NEW YORK, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS. 











FHE HAPPY WARRIOFL 


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THE BOOK OF 

THE HAPPY WARRIOR 


BY 

HENRY NEWBOLT 

>1 


* Who ia the Happy Warrior # Who ia he 
That every man in arms should wish to be 9* 


WITH 8 COLOURED PLATES, AND 25 OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY 

HENRY J. FORD 

l 


LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 

FOURTH AVENUE & 30th STREET, NEW YORK 
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS 

1917 


All rights reserved 











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PREFACE 


TO ALL BOYS 

TO WHOM THESE PRESENTS SHALL COME 

Gentlemen, — The stories which form the greater 
part of this book are not entirely new, but they will 
probably be new to you in their present form. Some 
of them have until now been hard to come at without 
spending time on mediaeval French and Latin ; some 
have been put into English which did not gain them 
a fair hearing, and some into very simple language 
fit only for the extremely young. Bayard’s life has 
been well translated by Sara Coleridge, and I have 
borrowed freely from her version ; but for the rest I 
had to do most of the work myself, and very pleasant 
work it was . 1 The ‘ Chanson de Roland ’ is so magnificent 
a poem that you cannot get too close to the original ; 
the translator who tries to embellish it is wasting his 
own time and defrauding his readers. Vinsauf’s 
chronicle of Richard Coeur de Lion’s crusade is written 
in fine flowing Latin, with verse quotations and neat 
phrases in the most modern style ; who would have 
supposed that ‘ They made a virtue of necessity ’ 

1 Part of it I had already done : ‘ News from Poitiers ’ will be found 
in The Old Country , and ‘ France v. Gentlemen of England ’ in The New 
June. 

y 


vi PREFACE 

was a saying of the twelfth century in f England ? 
Even better is the fourteenth- century Chronicle of 
Geoffrey le Baker de Swynebroke — his account of Poitiers 
is full of good things, and the finest thing perhaps 
in any chronicle is his report of the Black Prince’s 
speech to his men before the battle. The mediaeval 
French chronicles, especially the ones in verse, are 
more difficult, and they make strange work with English 
surnames ; but I particularly recommend to you the 
lives of Bertrand du Guesclin and the Chevalier Bayard 
— they are easy to read and still easier to understand, 
for both those great and chivalrous gentlemen were 
downright scallywags in their boyhood. 

A scallywag is one who is constantly breaking rules. 
Remember that these two, though they would break 
rules made by others, never broke the rules they made 
for themselves. You will not get the best out of these 
stories of great men unless you keep in mind, while 
you read, the rules and feelings that were in their 
minds while they fought. Chivalry was a plan of life, 
a conscious ideal, an ardent attempt to save Europe 
from barbarism, even when nations were at war with 
one another. It was at first dressed up in a distinc- 
tive set of forms and ceremonies — very fine forms »and 
ceremonies, but not absolutely necessary; when they 
died out the ideal, the plan of life, was great enough 
to survive without them. It still survives, and still 
gives the answer to both barbarians and pacifists. 

Its main principles — the main ideas that were 
in the minds of all these great fighters of the past — 
were these : First, Service, in peace and war, in love 
and in religion. Secondly, Brotherhood and Equality 
throughout the Order — whatever their rank or nation- 


Vll 


PREFACE 

ality, and whether they were hunting or dining together, 
or fighting against one another, all knights were brothers. 
Thirdly, a Right Pride — the pride of parage , not orgueil : 
pride, that is, not in yourself but in your Order. 
Fourthly, the Consecration of Love; and, Fifthly, the 
Help and Defence of the Weak, the Suffering, and the 
Oppressed. 

Those are the Laws of Chivalry, the rules which the 
heroes of these stories vowed never to break. While 
men continue to fight, these rules, and these alone, can 
save the weaker from slavery and the stronger from 
universal hatred and moral ruin. Our ancestors knew 
this, and took care to hand on the truth to us. At the 
end of the book you will find two chapters in which 
I have tried to show how the tradition has been kept 
to the present day. The old method of training the 
young squires to knighthood produced our public 
school system, which is not at all the same as the 
monastic system. The monastic kind of school aimed 
at making clerics or learned men, and it was as much 
like a juvenile monastery as possible. The public 
school, on the other hand, has derived the housemaster 
from the knight to whose castle boys were sent as 
pages ; fagging, from the services of all kinds which 
they there performed ; prefects, from the senior squires* 
or ‘ masters of the henchmen ’ ; athletics, from the 
habit of out-door life ; and the love of games, the 
‘ sporting 5 or ‘ amateur * view of them, from tourna- 
ments and the chivalric rules of war. 

This ideal, this plan of life for boys, includes any 
amount of learning, both in literature and science, but 
its peculiar virtue is that it teaches how you may live, 
and even fight when necessary, without spoiling or 


PREFACE 


viii 

corrupting life for others or for yourself. It is the 
ideal of those who realise that victory, success, possession, 
power, are not the first or most valuable things in the 
world ; they come second by a long way to the value 
of certain spiritual things, which are the real making 
of life, and which we call by many common names, such 
as kindness, humanity, decency, honour, good faith — 
whatever they are called, we know them well enough, 
and we know that to give them up under any circum- 
stances whatever, would be a loss greater than any 
defeat or death. In my last two chapters, then, if you 
have time to read them, I have written at greater 
length of these beliefs and how we have inherited 
them. 


Henry Newbolt. 


CONTENTS 


I. THE SONG OF ROLAND 

1. The Pride of Roland .... 

2. The Sounding of the Horn . 

3. The Death of Oliver .... 

4. The Death of Roland .... 


PAGE! 

1 

5 

9 

12 


II. RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

1. The Lion and the Griffons . 

2. The Siege of Acre .... 

3. The March on Jerusalem 

4. The Last Battle ..... 


19 

28 

39 

45 


III. ST. LOUIS, KING OF FRANCE 

1. How Youth went Crusading ... 

2. The Capture of Damietta . 

3. The Battle of Mansourah 

4. Great in Defeat ..... 


55 

59 

62 

71 


ix 


X 


CONTENTS 


IV. ROBIN HOOD 

PAGE 

1 . The Greenwood Laws ...... 76 

2. Abbots and the Like 82 

3. The Sheriff of Nottingham ..... 86 

4. Robin Repaid 91 

5. Rescue for Rescue 95 

6 . Robin and the King ...... 101 

7. The Death of Robin Hood ..... 107 

V. BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

1. An Ugly Duckling 110 

2. A Boy Prince 115 

3. Ten Years’ Fighting ...... 124 

4. Cocherel and Auray ...... 131 

5. The End of the Two Champions .... 137 

VI. NEWS FROM POITIERS, 1356 . ... 145 

VII. FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

1. Among the Squires . . . . . 174 

2. A Council of War 182 

3. A Very Young Lord 190 

4. Among the Champions 195 

5. The Fortune of John Marland .... 207 


CONTENTS xi 

VIII. THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

PA.GB 

1. The Boyhood of a Good Knight .... 218 

2. Tourneys, Wars, and Challenges .... 224 

3. Love and Ladies 232 

4. The Fount of Honour ...... 239 

5. Death and Fame 245 

IX. THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL .... 254 

X. CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 272 




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ILLUSTRATIONS 


V « * 

The Happy Warrior Frontispiece 

• COLOURED PLATES 

y 

Roland blows his horn in the valley of Roncevaux Facing p 6 

‘ King Richard, with a deadly shot of his arbalest, 
pierced him fairly through the breast 5 . 

The Lord of Joinville on his way to the crusade 

How the King, disguised as an abbot, visited 
Robin under the greenwood tree . . 

Bertrand rides into Rennes for the tournament . 

The Cardinal of Perigord comes to the English 
camp to negotiate with the Black Prince # 

The Earl of Huntingdon blows the golden horn 

Francis I, the King of France, receives the order 
of knighthood from Bayard 

ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT 

PAGE 

‘ Oliver sees the coming of the whole heathen army * , 3 

‘ With his horn he strikes him on his gold helm * . 15 

The Banners of England and France together are raised 

on the Towers of Messina ..... 23 

Richard watches the Stoners at Work at the Siege of Acre . 35 

xiii 


36 

58 

102 

112 

150 

198 


244 


xiv ILLUSTRATIONS 

King Richard aroused by the Night Alarm 

St. Louis puts on the Cross ...... 

‘ When she touched land a Saracen rode against her com- 
pany at great speed *...... 

St. Louis prays to avert the Greek fire from his Towers 

‘ King Louis fought with such valour that he alone delivered 
himself ’ ........ 

Little John with Much and Scathelock invite the gentle and 
sad knight to dine with Robin Hood . . 

How Robin carried Little John on his back . 

Robin and his outlaws kneel to the King under the green- 
wood tree ........ 

Du Guesclin thrown from the ladder by the cask of stones 

The Black Prince refuses to hand over du Guesclin to Don 
Pedro 

Harry Marland describes the battle of Poitiers to his family 

The English archers and French men-at-arms . 

Edward the Black Prince waits on his prisoner the King of 
France ......... 

The Black Prince finds the body of Robert de Duras on 
the field of battle ....... 

The young Lord finds John Marland in his room 

‘De Roye sat dishelmed and beaten upon his motionless 
charger * ....... 

‘ He knew nothing more till he felt cold water splashing over 
his face ’ 

The young Bayard shows his courage on horseback . 

The Chevalier gives a thousand ducats to each of the 
daughters of his hostess ..... 

The death of the Good Knight 


PAGB 

47 

57 

61 

64 

69 

78 

98 

105 

132 

141 

149 

155 

160 

164 

191 

211 

216 

225 

238 

249 


THE BOOK OF 
THE HAPPY WARRIOR 


THE SONG OF ROLAND 
1. The Pride of Roland 

Charles the King, the great Emperor, has been seven 
full years in Spain : as far as to the sea he has con- 
quered all the high land. Not a castle could hold 
against him, not a town or wall : Charles the Great has 
laid Spain waste, beaten down the castles, and taken 
the cities by storm. 4 My warfare is accomplished,’ 
says the King, and behold him riding towards the sweet 
land of France. The day is going, night is coming on. 
Count Roland has the rear-guard of the army, with 
Oliver his comrade : he has planted his banner on the 
hill-top right against the sky : all about, his Frenchmen 
make their camps. But the heathen army is riding by 
the high valleys to attack him, with hauberks and double 
mail on back, swords on hips, shields about their necks, 
and lances ready in their hands. On a height among 
these hills there is a wood : there they halt, there four 
hundred thousand men of them are waiting for dawn 
to rise. God ! what grief that the Frenchmen know 
it not ! 

Fair came the day, and bright the sun : no armour 


2 


THE SONG OF ROLAND 

was there that did not flash it back. To make all more 
splendid, a thousand trumpets are sounding. 6 Sir 
Comrade, 5 says Oliver, 4 1 think we may well have 
battle with the Saracens. 5 And Roland : 4 God grant 
it ! Our duty is to hold on here for our King. For his 
lord a man should suffer distress : and endure frost or 
heat, and lose all, even to his hair and skin. Let each 
take care that he strike good strokes : let no ill song be 
sung of us ! The heathen are wrong, the Christians 
right : no man shall ever take a bad example from 
me. 5 

Oliver mounts a height : he looks to the right into 
the grassy valley, and sees the coming of the whole 
heathen army. He calls his comrade Roland : 4 From 
Spainwards I see advancing such a turmoil, so many 
bright hauberks, so many flashing helms. There is 
great wrath coming on our Frenchmen. 5 With all 
speed he has left the hill, he has come down towards 
the Frenchmen, and has told them all. Says Oliver, 
4 1 have seen heathen : no man on earth has ever seen 
more of them. Before us are a good hundred thousand, 
with shields, with helms laced, with bright hauberks, 
lances couched and brown blades gleaming. Battle 
you will have, such as never was yet. My lords of 
France, God give you courage : hold your ground, that 
we be not vanquished. 5 Said the Frenchmen, 4 Sorrow 
take him that runs ! For life or death, not one of us 
shall fail you. 5 

Says Oliver, 4 The heathen are in great force : of 
our French there seem to be but few. Comrade Roland, 
sound your horn : so shall Charles hear it, and bring 
back his army. 5 Roland answers, 4 1 should be right 
mad : in sweet France I should lose my fame. But I 


3 


THE PRIDE OF ROLAND 

will strike great strokes with Durendal, my sword : 
bloody shall the brand be to the golden hilt : strongly 
too shall our Frenchmen strike. These heathen felons 
have come to the passes in an evil hour for them : I 
swear to you, they are all doomed to death.* 

* Comrade Roland, sound your horn : so shall 



Charles hear it, and bring back his army : the King 
and his barons shall succour us.’ 

Roland answers, * God forbid that my kindred should 
bear reproach for me, or sweet France fall into dishonour.’ 

‘ Comrade Roland, sound your horn : so shall Charles 
hear it as he goes through the passes : on my oath the 
French will turn back.’ 



4 


THE SONG OF ROLAND 

4 God forbid,’ replies Roland, 4 that any man living 
should tell of me that I was sounding horn for any 
heathen. I will not bring that reproach upon my kin. 
But when I am in the great battle, there will I strike 
a thousand strokes, and seven hundred more : you 
shall see the blade of Durendal drip with blood.’ 

Says Oliver : 6 Here I see no reproach ; I have seen 
the Saracens of Spain. The valley and the mountains 
are covered with them, and the heaths and all the plains. 
Great is the host of this alien folk, and we be very few.’ 
Roland answers, ‘ My desire is the greater ; God for- 
bid that France by me should be the loser. I would 
rather die than live to shame.’ 

Roland is brave, and Oliver is wise : both have 
marvellous courage. The felon heathen are riding in 
great wrath. Says Oliver : 6 See, Roland, they are near 
us now, and too far away is Charles. You would not 
deign to sound your horn, or here would be the King, 
and we should take no hurt ; there is no blame for 
them. Look towards the pass of Aspre ; there you may 
see a rear-guard in sorry plight. Many a man there shall 
never be in any guard again.’ Roland answers, 4 Speak 
not so wildly : ill take the heart that is a coward. We 
will stand fast in our place : from us shall come the 
blows and the battle ! ’ 

Into the passes of Spain goes Roland on Veillantif, 
his good charger : he bears his arms, right well they 
become him. He goes with lance in hand, the point 
turned up against the sky, and decked with a pennon 
all of white : the golden fringe of it flaps against his 
hand. His form is gallant, his face clear and gay : 
after him comes his comrade Oliver, and the French 
acclaim him as their champion. To them he speaks a 


THE SOUNDING OF THE HORN 5 

word courteously : ‘ Lords, keep a gentle pace ; these 
heathen come looking for a great slaughter ; we shall 
have a fair and goodly booty to-day, none so rich ever 
fell to a King of France.’ 

Said Oliver : ‘ I care not for words. You would 
not deign to sound your horn, you will have no succour 
of Charles — no blame to him, for he knows nought of 
the matter. Now, lords, ride your best and hold your 
ground ! In God’s name be resolved to strike, to give 
and take again ; let us not forget the war-cry of King 
Charles ! ’ 

At that word the Frenchmen shouted 2 * * * 6 Montjoie ! ’ 
and he that heard them would have known what courage 
meant. Then they ride, God ! with such pride ! They 
spur for speed, they rush to fight — what else should they 
do ? The Saracens, too, fear not : Franks and heathen, 
there you see them hand to hand. 

2. The Sounding of the Horn 

The battle is terrible and long : the Frenchmen 

strike with their sharp swords — not one of them but 

is red with blood. They cry 6 Montjoie ! ’ the famous 
war-cry : through all the land the Saracens are flying. 

The Franks from Christian land are upon their heels : 
now they see that the mellay is right hard. The heathen 
folk in sorrow and wrath give ground, and turn to 
flight : those who would take them are close upon their 
heels. There may you see the plain all covered, so 
many Saracens fallen upon the rough grass, so many 
bright hauberks and shining coats of mail, so many 
broken lances, so many banners torn. This battle 
have the French won, yet ah ! God ! how great is their 


6 THE SONG OF ROLAND 

loss ! Charles will lose his pride and defence : into 
great sorrow will fall the land of France. 

There might you see Roland and Oliver fighting 
and striking with their swords : well may you know the 
numbers of those whom they have slain : it is written 
in charters and in briefs : as saith the Chronicle, more 
than four thousand fell. In four encounters it has 
gone well with ours, but the fight is heavy and sore for 
them. All the knights of France are slain, all but 
sixty whom God has spared. Before they die they will 
sell themselves right dear ! 

Count Roland sees the great losses of his men : 
his comrade Oliver he calls, 6 Fair comrade dear, God 
be with you ! see all these good soldiers lying on the 
ground. Well may we weep for sweet France, fair 
France, left desolate of such noble barons. Ah ! King 
and friend, why are you not here ? Oliver, my brother, 
what can we do to send him news of our need ? ’ Said 
Oliver, 4 1 know not where to look : I had rather die 
than bring shame upon me.’ 

Then says Roland, 4 1 will blow my horn. So shall 
Charles hear it, as he goes down the passes. I pledge 
you my word, the Franks will turn then.’ Said Oliver, 

4 The shame would be great, and a reproach to all your 
kin : this dishonour would last them all their lives. 
When I bade you do it, then you would not : now you 
shall not with my consent. If you blow now, it will 
not be bravely done : now you have both arms bloody.’ 
Answers the Count, 4 Ay ! I have struck full many a 
good stroke ! ’ Then said Roland, 4 Hard is our battle ; 
why are you angry against me ? ’ And he answers, 

4 Comrade, it is your doing : good sense in courage is 
not folly : better worth is measure than madness. The 



Roland blows his horn in the valley of Roncevaux. 




THE SOUNDING OF THE HORN 7 

French are dead by your light folly : Charles will get 
no more service of us. If you had listened to me, we 
should have played out this battle ; the heathen king 
would have been taken or dead. Your prowess, Roland, 
has wrought our ill : Charlemagne shall get no more 
of you : never again shall there be such a man from 
now till God’s judgment-day. Here you will die, and 
France will come to shame thereby. To-day, too, must 
end our faithful fellowship : right sore will be our 
parting before night.’ Then did they weep and sigh, 
each grieving for the other. 

Now Roland has put the horn to his lips : he grasps 
it well, and with great force he blows it. High are the 
hills and the sound goes very far : thirty long leagues 
they hear it echo. Charles hears it, and all his comrades. 
Then says the King, ‘ Our men are giving battle.’ 
Count Roland, with pain and anguish, with great 
dolour, sounds his horn: from his mouth streams the 
bright blood, his temples are bursting. But of the horn 
he holds the sound is right loud : Charles hears it as he 
goes down the passes, Duke Naimes hears it, and all 
the Frenchmen listen to it. Then said the King, 6 1 
hear the horn of Roland : never would he sound it if 
he were not fighting.’ 

The Count Roland has blood upon his mouth : his 
temples are bursting : he sounds his horn with great 
pain, with great anguish. Charles and his Frenchmen 
hear it : then said the King, * That horn is blown with 
a long breath ! ’ Answers the Duke Naimes, ‘ There 
Roland is in pain : battle there is, by my faith, and 
someone has betrayed him. Arm yourself, and cry 
your war-cry : rescue your noble servants : you hear 
well enough that Roland is in despair.’ 


8 


THE SONG OF ROLAND 

The Emperor has bidden his horn to sound : the 
French dismount, and arm themselves with hauberks 
and helms and golden-hilted swords : fair shields they 
have, and long and strong lances, and banners white 
and red and blue. All the barons of the host spring 
to horse, and spur till they have crossed the passes 
again. Not one of them but says to another, ‘ If we 
could but see Roland before he dies, at his side we 
would deal great blows.’ Who cares for that ? They 
have delayed too long. 

The night has turned to light, and the day has 
dawned : against the sun armour is shining, hauberk 
and helm flash out flames, and shields all painted with 
flowers, and lances and gilded banners. The Emperor 
rides in w r rath, and the French are grieved and angry : 
there is none but weeps bitterly : for Roland they are 
in great fear. 

High are the hills and dark and vast : deep are 
the valleys, and swift the torrents. Behind, before, 
sound the trumpets, all answering the horn of Roland. 
The Emperor rides wrathfully, the Frenchmen rage and 
grieve ; there is none but weeps and laments and prays 
God to keep Roland safe until they come into the field 
together ; then with him they will strike right strongly. 
Who cares for that ? Naught avails now ; they delayed 
too long, they cannot come in time. 

In great wrath rides Charlemagne ; over his coat of 
mail lies his white beard. All the barons of France 
spur onward, for there is none but is lamenting not to 
be with Roland, the captain who is fighting the Saracens 
of Spain. If he is wounded, would a soul remain alive ? 
Ah ! God ! what men are the sixty in his company ! 
Better men had never King or captain. 


THE DEATH OF OLIVER 


9 


3. The Death of Oliver 
Roland looks across the hills and heaths : of the 
men of France he sees so many lying dead, and he 
mourns for them like a noble knight. 4 Noble barons, 
God have mercy on you, and bring all your souls to 
Paradise, to lie on holy flowers. Better soldiers than 
you I never saw : so long a time you have served me, 
so great lands have you conquered for Charles. The 
Emperor has nurtured you to no good end. O land of 
France, a right sweet country art thou : to-day thou 
art bereft of so many noble barons. Barons of France, 
through me I see you dying, yet can I not defend you 
or save you : God be your aid, who never breaks His 
promise. Oliver, my brother, it is not for me to fail 
you ; I shall die of grief, if I am not here slain by some 
other. Sir Comrade, let us to battle again ! ’ 

Count Roland is gone back to the field : in his hand 
is Durendal, and like a brave soldier he strikes there- 
with. When he sees the accursed folk who are blacker 
than ink, with nothing white about them but their 
teeth, then said the Count : 4 Now know I truly that 
to-day we shall die. Strike, Frenchmen ! for again I 
begin the battle.’ Said Oliver, 4 111 luck to the laggard ! ’ 
And as he spoke the Frenchmen rushed on. 

When the heathen saw that the French were few, 
there was pride and comfort among them. One to 
another they said : 4 The Emperor has the wrong of it.’ 
The Caliph springs upon a roan horse and spurs well 
with his golden spurs : he strikes Oliver behind, in the 
middle of the back, he has pierced through the shining 
hauberk to his body, and out through his breast the 
spear has gone. Then said he, 4 You have taken a 


10 THE SONG OF ROLAND 

mortal wound : Charlemagne did ill to leave you in 
the pass. The Emperor has done us wrong, but he 
will have no boast of that, for by your death alone 
have I well avenged our men.’ 

Oliver feels that he is stricken to death : he will not 
wait long for his vengeance. In his hand is his sword 
Halteclere, brown of blade : he smites the Caliph on 
his helm all gilded, and dashes from it stones and 
crystals : he cleaves his head, even to the teeth, and 
strikes him down to death. Then said he, 4 Heathen, 
curse upon you : I say not that Charles has not lost, 
but neither to wife nor to lady shall you boast, in the 
land of your birth, that you have taken from Charles a 
penny’s worth, or done him harm by me or by another.’ 
And then he called Roland to his aid. 

Oliver feels that he is stricken to death, and never 
can he have enough of vengeance. In the great press 
he strikes like a noble baron : he cleaves lances, bucklers, 
hands and feet, sides and shoulders. Whoever had 
seen him thus hacking the Saracens in pieces and hurling 
them dead one upon another, would long have kept the 
memory of a good fighting man. Nor did he forget the 
war-cry of Charles : 4 Montjoie ! ’ he cried, loud and 
clear. He calls on Roland, his friend and peer : 4 Sir 
Comrade, come then to my side : to-day to our sorrow 
we shall be parted.’ And each for the other they began 
to weep. 

Roland looks Oliver in the face : changed he was 
and livid, colourless and pale : his bright blood stream- 
ing from his body and pouring to the ground. 4 God ! ’ 
said the Count, 4 now I know not what to do. Sir 
Comrade, your courage has undone you. Never shall 
be seen again a fighting man like you. Alas ! sweet 


THE DEATH OF OLIVER 11 

land of France, how art thou to-day bereft of good 
soldiers, confounded and cast down ! The Emperor 
will have great loss of them.’ And at that word Roland 
swooned upon his horse. 

See you Roland swooning upon his horse, and Oliver 
wounded to death ? So has he bled that his eyes are 
dim : neither near nor far can he see clear to know 
again any man on earth. His comrade, when he meets 
him, he has struck upon his gold and jewelled helm : 
he has cloven it to the nose-piece, but has not touched 
the head. At that blow Roland looks at him and asks 
him tenderly and gently, 6 Sir Comrade, do you this 
of your own will ? I am Roland, who have always 
loved you : and in no way have you ever been against 
me.’ Said Oliver, 4 1 hear your voice : I cannot see 
you : may the Lord God see you ! I have struck you : 
Oh, forgive me that ! 1 Roland answers : 4 1 have taken 
no harm : here and before God I do forgive you.’ 
Thereat they leaned over to embrace each other: in 
such loving fashion have you seen them make their 
parting. 

Oliver feels death greatly anguish him : his two 
eyes turn within his head : his hearing is lost, his sight 
is gone. He leaves his saddle, he lays himself to earth : 
he confesses his sins aloud. With joined hands held 
up to Heaven he prays God to grant him Paradise, 
and to bless Charles the King and the sweet land of 
France, and above all other men his comrade Roland. 
His heart fails, his helm droops, he lies at full length 
on the ground. Dead is the Count, he is no longer 
here. Roland the Baron weeps and laments for 
him : never on earth will you hear tell of a man more 
sorrowful. 


12 


THE SONG OF ROLAND 

Count Roland, when he sees his friend dead, lying 
there with his face towards the East, cannot keep him- 
self from weeping and sobbing. Very tenderly he 
begins to mourn for him : ‘ Sir Comrade, your valour 
has undone you ! Together have we been many years, 
many days : never did you hurt me, never did I do 
you wrong. Now you are dead, it is my sorrow that 
I live.’ At that word he swoons upon his charger 
Veillantif : but his golden stirrups hold him up, so 
that whichever way he go he cannot fall. 

4. The Death of Roland 

Count Roland fights nobly, but his body sweats and 
burns : in his head he has pain and great sickness : 
burst are his temples with blowing the horn. But he 
would fain know if Charles will come : he takes his 
horn again, feebly he sounds it. The Emperor has 
halted, he listens ‘ Lords , 5 said he, ‘ it goes right ill 
with us ; Roland my nephew is this day lost to us ; 
I hear by the horn that he has not long to live. He 
that would be there, let him ride quickly. Sound your 
trumpets, every one that is in all this army . 5 Then 
sixty thousand of them blow so loud that the hills 
resound and the valleys answer. The heathen hear, 
and have no desire to laugh ; one to another they say : 
‘ Now we shall have Charles upon us . 5 

The heathen say : 4 The Emperor is returning : hear 
the trumpets of the men of France. If Charles comes 
we shall be lost : if Roland lives he will renew our war, 
we shall have lost our land of Spain . 5 Then four hundred 
of them gather in their helms, the best there are upon 
the field. On Roland they make onslaught hard and 
fierce : the Count has much ado to meet them on his 


13 


THE DEATH OF ROLAND 

side. Say the heathen : ‘ In an evil hour were we 
born ! To-day a fatal day has dawned for us : we 
have lost our lords and our peers. Charles is coming 
with his great host : we can hear the clear trumpets 
of the men of France, and great is the noise of their war- 
cry “ Montjoie ! ” Count Roland is of so great pride, 
he will never be conquered by any mortal man. Let 
us shoot at him from afar : so we may leave him on 
the field.’ So they said : lances and spears, javelins 
and winged darts they flung at him, they pierced and 
broke the shield of Roland, they rent his hauberk and 
tore away its broidery : his body they have not touched, 
but Veillantif is wounded in thirty places : beneath the 
Count he has fallen dead. The heathen flee, they leave 
him there : Count Roland is alone on foot. 

Roland turns again, he goes once more to search the 
field. Under a pine, beside a brake of eglantine, he 
has found his comrade Oliver : against his breast he 
has clasped him closely, and returned as best he can. 
On a shield beside the other peers he has laid him 
down. Then his grief and pity wax greater ; thus says 
Roland : ‘ Fair comrade Oliver, you were son to the 
good Count Renier, who held the marches of Gennes in 
the valley : to break a lance, to shatter a shield, to 
rend a hauberk’s mail, to hold council with the wise, 
to bring traitors to dismay, in no land was there ever a 
better knight.’ 

Count Roland, when he saw his peers all dead, and 
Oliver whom he so loved, was moved with tenderness 
and began again to weep. His face was all dis- 
coloured : so great was his grief that he could no 
longer stand upright. Will he, nill he, to the ground 
he fell swooning. 


14 


THE SONG OF ROLAND 

Then Count Roland returns from his swoon ; he 
rises to his feet, but he has great pain : he feels that 
death is near him. For his peers, he prays that God will 
summon them, then he commends himself to the angel 
Gabriel. He takes the horn in one hand, that there be 
no reproach, and in the other Durendal his sword. 
Further than an arbalest can send a shot he marches 
towards Spain : he enters a field, he mounts a rise : 
there, under two fair trees, are four steps of marble : 
upon the green grass there he falls, there he swoons : 
for death is very near to him. 

High are the hills, and very high the trees : four 
steps are there, of shining marble. On the green grass 
lies Count Roland swooning. One Saracen is spying on 
him every way : he had feigned death, he lay among 
the rest, he had covered his body and his face with blood. 
Now he gets him to his feet, he comes up running : 
a fine man and strong, and of great courage. Full of 
pride and deadly rage, he seizes Roland, his body and 
his arms, and he speaks a word : 4 Vanquished is the 
nephew of Charles the King : this sword of his I will 
bear away to Araby.’ He took it in his fist, and pulled 
the beard of Roland ; and at that pull Count Roland 
was aware of him. 

Roland feels that his sword is being taken from him : 
he opens his eyes, he speaks a w T ord : ‘Well know I, 
thou art none of ours ! 5 With his horn, that he would 
never lose, he strikes him on his gold and jewelled 
helm : he breaks the heathen’s steel, his head and his 
bones, both his eyes he dashes from his head, at his feet 
he flings him dead. Then says he, ‘ Coward ! how 
didst thou dare, by right or by wrong, to lay hand on 
me ? None that hears tell of thee, but shall hold thee 


THE DEATH OF ROLAND 15 

for a fool. Broken is the broad mouth of my horn : 
fallen are the gold and crystal of it.’ 

Now feels Roland that death is hastening upon 
him : he gets him to his feet, he rouses him as he may : 



he has lost the colour from his face. He grasps Durendal 
his sword all naked : before him he has a brown rock. 
Ten strokes he strikes upon it in grief and wrath : the 
steel grates, it is not broken nor dinted. Then said 
the Count : ‘ Saint Mary, aid ! Alas ! Durendal, good 



16 THE SONG OF ROLAND 

sword, ill was thy fortune ! When I part from thee, 
my care of thee is past. So many fights in field have 
I won with thee, so many great lands conquered that 
Charles now holds, Charles with his hoary beard. Let 
no man ever own thee that would turn his back for an 
enemy. W T hile I live, never shall thou be taken from 
me : to a right good soldier thou hast long time 
belonged ; never shall be such another in the free land 
of France.’ 

Roland strikes again upon the Sardian rock ; the 
steel grates, it is not broken nor dinted. When the 
Count sees that he cannot break it, to himself he begins 
his lament. * Alas ! Durendal, how art thou clear and 
bright ! how thou gleamest and flashest against the 
sun ! Charles was in the valley of Maurienne when 
God in Heaven bade him by an angel give thee to a 
Count and Captain ; then did the gentle King Charle- 
magne gird me with thee. With thee I won for him 
Anjou and Brittany ; with thee Poitou and Maine, the 
free land of Normandy, Provence and Aquitaine, and 
Lombardy and all Romania ; with thee I won for him 
Bavaria and Flanders, Bulgaria and all Poland : Con- 
stantinople did him homage, and Saxony was at his will. 
With thee I won for him Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, 
and England, that he holds as his demesne. With thee 
have I won so many lands and countries that Charles 
now holds, Charles of the white beard. For this my 
sword, I have great grief and heaviness : rather would 
I die than that it should be left in heathen hands. 
Lord God, my Father, let not France be so dishonoured ! ’ 

Roland strikes yet again upon a dark rock : harder 
he smites than I can tell. The steel grates : it breaks 
not nor is dinted : against the sky it springs back 


THE DEATH OF ROLAND 17 

on high. When the Count saw that he could not break 
it, very gently he lamented to himself, 4 Alas ! Duren- 
dal, how fair thou art and holy ! It is not right that 
heathen should have thee : by Christians shouldst 
thou be kept. So many battles have I won with thee, 
and conquered so many great lands that Charles now 
holds, Charles of the flowing beard : by thee is the 
Emperor both strong and rich. May no man own thee 
that does cowardly : God ! let not France be so dis- 
honoured ! ’ 

Roland feels that death is seizing him : from his 
head to his heart it is descending. Beneath a pine he 
has gone in haste : on the green grass he has thrown 
himself down : under him he lays his sword and his 
horn. He has turned his face towards the heathen 
folk : this has he done because he wishes truly that 
Charles may say and all his people, how that the gentle 
Count died conquering. Then he confessed his faults 
great and small, again and again : for his sins he offered 
up to God his gauntlet. 

Count Roland lay beneath a pine : towards Spain 
he turned his face. Then of many a thing he began to 
have remembrance : of the many lands that he had 
conquered, of sweet France, of the men of his kindred, 
of Charlemagne his lord, who nurtured him, and of the 
men of France, of whom he was so trusted. He could 
not but weep and sigh : but of himself he would not be 
forgetful, he confessed his faults, he prayed God for 
His mercy : 4 O very Father of men, Thou who never 
failest of Thy promise, Thou who didst raise up Lazarus 
from death, and defendedst Daniel from the lions, keep 
Thou my soul from all perils from the sins which in my 
life I did. 5 He offers for them his right gauntlet to 


18 THE SONG OF ROLAND 

God : and from his hand Saint Gabriel has received 
it. Upon his arm he holds his head bent down : with 
his hands joined he has gone to his end. 

Dead is Roland : God has his soul in Heaven : the 
Emperor is come to Roncevaux. Not a road is there, 
not a path, not an open space, not a yard of earth, not 
a foot, but there lies the body of a Frank or of a heathen. 
‘ Fair nephew,’ cries Charles the King , 4 where are you ? ’ 
In vain : for there is none that answers. 


RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

’ 1. The Lion and the Griffons 

In the year of our Lord MCLXXXVII Richard, Count 
of Poitou and Duke of Aquitaine, took the Cross in the 
lifetime of his father Henry, King of England. And 
this he did without the consent of the King, but moved, 
according to his nature, by his own will and passion. 
For of all men of whom we have any true record, he 
was the one that most loved war and most excelled in 
fighting ; also he was touched in his heart with grief 
and indignation for the kingdom of Jerusalem, which 
had been in that year overthrown and the Holy Sepulchre 
itself taken and defiled by infidels, and by the ruler of 
them — Saladin , 1 Sultan of Syria and of Egypt. 

Now it happened, within two years after, that King 
Henry died, and Richard was crowned King of England 
in his stead. Then the desire of war and pilgrimage 
came again upon him and he began with haste to make 
ready for his voyage, and to gather money and arms as 
for a long day’s work. And to this end he sold every- 
thing that he had, both lands and manors and jewels 
that were his own, and also grants royal (as of earldoms, 
and castles, and the seats of justice), so that there were 
many who deemed him to be without hope of returning 
to his own, and looking only to die for the Holy 

1 Pronounced Salah-din (Salah al-din). 

19 


20 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

Sepulchre in the van of the armies of Christendom. 
And in this they were deceived, but not in their high 
imagination of him ; for though he was hasty in many 
things and especially in anger, yet he was always 
generous and easy to be appeased, and what his haste 
spoiled his prudence mended. Above all, he had the 
virtues of a king that is a great man of arms ; for in 
all that he did his mind was noble, and his valour 
was such that he never knew defeat. Always he was 
jealous of his right ; but he would never close his hand 
from giving, nor forget a good turn, nor fail to succour 
his own party, and he would have had all his enemies 
to be hardy and honourable, for he loved such and 
desired to fight with none other. As for his body, he 
was tall and full of grace ; his hair between red and 
gold ; his arms full long, and not to be matched for 
foining with the sword or striking ; in everything he 
looked like one that should command others. And as 
Master Geoffrey de Vinsauf wrote, who knew him well, 
he was far above all men of his time both for goodness 
and for strength, and ever to be remembered for his 
prowess in battle, and by his deeds he shone beyond 
all that could be said of him. Also he was fair of face 
as no king has been of all the kings of England before 
or since ; and that may be seen by the image upon his 
tomb, which is in the Abbey Church of Fontevrault 
in France. 

It was on September 3 that Richard was crowned 
King at Westminster, and on December 11, after he 
had set the realm in order, he set sail from Dover and 
came to Normandy, in the first year of his reign and the 
thirty-second of his age. He kept Christmas at Lyons- 
la-Foret, and marched thence to Tours, and afterward to 


THE LION AND THE GRIFFONS 21 

Vezelai, where he had agreed to meet with Philip, King of 
France ; and they two, having made a treaty for their 
warfaring together, marched with their armies to Lyons 
on the Rhone and there parted to make their diverse 
ports, having taken tryst to meet at Messina in Sicily. 

King Richard came to Marseilles and was there three 
weeks. The ships which he found ready by the shore 
were in number a hundred, and fourteen busses beside, 
which were ships of great size and wonderful swiftness, 
strong and very staunch ; and whereas the other ships 
had each three spare rudders, thirteen anchors, thirty 
oars, two sails, three sets of ropes, with a tried master 
and a picked crew of fourteen men, and for freight forty 
men of arms with their horses, and forty foot soldiers, 
and provision for a whole year, yet the busses were so 
great that they carried double of all these. The King’s 
treasure (which was of value past reckoning) was parted 
among the ships and busses, so that if one part were 
lost the other might be saved. Then the King with his 
household and the chief men of his army took the sea 
on August 7 , and on September 23 he came to Messina, 
and found the King of France there before him. 

There he found also the rest of his own army, which 
had sailed from other ports, and had been but ill received 
by certain of the people of Messina, of whom many were 
come of Saracen blood. And these, who were called 
Griffons and Lombards, fell upon the Englishmen within 
a day after the coming of King Richard and attacked 
the hostel where Hugh de Brun was lodged. But the 
King hearing of it ran instantly upon them, though he 
had but twenty men with him, and scattered them like 
sheep and drove them into their city and made assault 
upon their battlements ; also our galleys from seaward 


22 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

stood into the port to block it, but the King of France 
hindered them from coming in and some of them were 
lost in the attempt. But on the land side, where the 
King of England was, the attack was pressed home. 
The walls were left without guard, for no one could look 
out from them but he would have an arrow in his eye 
before he could shut it ; and by means of a postern gate, 
which King Richard had before seen to be deserted by 
the citizens, he forced an entry with great boldness, and 
let in the rest of the army into the city. Then about ten 
thousand men marched through the city, and before 
them King Richard, who was first in every attack ; for 
by his daring he brought courage to his own men and 
discomfiture to his enemies, so that they were mown 
down by the sword like corn. Thus he took Messina by 
one assault, in less time than a priest would take to 
chant mattins ; and lo ! after this was done, the French 
suddenly beheld the ensigns and banners of King 
Richard floating above the walls of the city. Whereat 
the King of France was so mortified that he conceived 
in his heart that hatred against King Richard which 
lasted as long as his life. Yet he had offered no helping 
hand to the King of England against a stubborn enemy, 
as by his treaty of fellowship he was bound to do — nay, 
he resisted as long as he could. And when the city was 
taken he sent orders, by the advice of his council, that 
King Richard should take down his banners and put 
up the banners of France in their stead, in token of 
greater dignity. Thereat King Richard was indignant, 
considering what had happened, and bearing in mind 
the rights of their fellowship : and he sent no answer, 
lest he should seem to give up his right, and the victory 
should be ascribed not only to one who had done nothing, 


THE LION AND THE GRIFFONS 23 

but to a faithless adversary. Yet, by the intercession of 



The Banners of England and France together are raised on the 
Towers of Messina. 


mediators, his anger was at last appeased, and he who 



24 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

was held invincible yielded to the request of the King of 
France, so that in the towers were placed guards of 
both nations, and the banners of both were raised above 
the walls of the city. 

Nevertheless, after this there were again disputes 
between these kings, and the Griffons were stirred up 
by the King of France to do such injury as they could to 
King Richard, so that they forbade the supplying of 
provisions necessary for so great an army, and ordered 
that nothing should be exposed for sale, to the end that 
the English might be compelled to submit themselves 
to the power of their people. But King Richard, with 
great labour and diligence, built him a wooden castle, 
to which he gave the name of Mategriffun or Kill-Griffon. 
At this the Griffons were greatly angered, seeing that it 
was intended for their destruction ; for it was built 
on a hill close by the city, and very convenient for 
shelter. And lest the army should suffer from lack of 
provisions, which were forbidden to be sold, the King 
made them use those which had been brought by the 
ships as a store against the time to come. The enemy 
therefore did what harm and injury they could to our 
men, and the King of France openly favoured them. 
But the most part of the nobles were earnest for peace, 
and went to and fro between the palace and Mategriffun, 
to soften anger ; and in the end King Tancred of Sicily 
sent messengers to King Richard to offer peace, and said 
how he was unwilling to bear the ill-will of so great a 
man, to the danger of his own people ; and he made 
alliance with King Richard and gave his daughter to be 
betrothed to the King’s nephew, Arthur of Brittany, 
with 20,000 ounces of gold for a marriage portion. 

All things having been also restored, whether of silver 


THE LION AND THE GRIFFONS 25 

or gold, which had been taken from the city, the people 
and the pilgrims mixed gladly together, and the friend- 
ship of the kings was also renewed ; and when the great 
feast of Christmas came, King Richard with all respect 
bade the King of France to dinner, and by the public 
crier called upon every soul to pass that day with him in 
joy and gladness. At this courteous request the King 
of France came with an innumerable company of nobles 
and a crowd of others, and they were received with 
honour into the Castle of Mategriffun, where every one 
sat down according to his rank. Who could count the 
variety of the dishes which were brought in, or the 
diverse kinds of cups, or the crowds of servants in 
splendid attire ? Which if any should wish to do, let 
him measure in his mind the great-heartedness of King 
Richard, and so understand of what manner the feast 
would be. And after the feast was at an end, King 
Richard set before the King of France such cups as 
were of most beauty, and gave him his choice in honour 
of the day, and likewise to each noble according to his 
rank ; for like Titus, after whose manner he bestowed 
his wealth, he counted that day lost on which he 
happened to have given nothing. 

Then, after the stormy months of winter were past, 
there came to King Richard his mother Queen Eleanor, 
bringing with her the noble damsel Berengaria, daughter 
to the King of Navarre, and betrothed wife of King 
Richard. And in no long space after, the King of France 
sailed for Palestine, and Queen Eleanor, having stayed 
but a short time, departed again to Normandy ; then 
the King sent forward his betrothed to Cyprus, with his 
own sister, and on the Wednesday after Palm Sunday 
he followed after her. And when he came to Cyprus he 


26 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

found there the buss in which the queens were, lying at 
anchor off the port of Limasol. For in Cyprus also there 
were Griffons, which hindered our men from landing 
and took some of them and slew others ; so that from 
fear of the cruelty and treason of the Emperor of Cyprus 
the queens had not yet disembarked. 

But while the pilgrims were fighting for their lives, 
King Richard arrived in the port of Limasol with all his 
fleet, and sent two knights to the Emperor to ask satis- 
faction of him in a peaceful manner. Whereat the 
Emperor was indignant, and used strong words, saying 
‘ Prut, Sire,’ and boasting that an Emperor had nothing 
to do with a King, being answerable only to God. 

When the envoys brought back this message King 
Richard shouted out loud ‘ To arms ! ’ and went with 
all his men in boats to seize the port, and the Emperor 
and his defended the shore, some with slings and bows, 
and some in galleys. Then our men came to close 
quarters and shot into the galleys and took them all, 
and came near to shore and shot arrows like rain at 
those who kept the landing-place. But the fight was 
long time doubtful, until King Richard, perceiving that 
his men were not daring enough to leave their boats 
and go to the shore, leaped first from his barge into the 
water and boldly attacked the Griffons. Then also, 
our men, following him, cut down the Greeks and 
pursued them beyond the city. The King himself 
found a common horse, and speedily vaulted upon it 
by the aid of a lance, and with cords for stirrups rode 
on after the Emperor, crying out, 6 My Lord the 
Emperor, I defy you to single combat.’ But he, as 
though he were deaf, fled swiftly away. 

On the morrow the Griffons would fight again ; but 


THE LION AND THE GRIFFONS 27 

while the Emperor was encouraging his men, the King 
came suddenly upon him at full speed and with his 
spear struck him from his horse, but in the crowd he 
got himself another horse and escaped to the mountains. 
Then the King struck down his banner-bearer, and gave 
orders that the banner, which was of great splendour 
and beauty, should be kept for him. 

King Richard’s desire was to pursue the Emperor 
wherever he was, and to take him by force ; but by 
the mediation of the Hospitallers of Jerusalem it was 
determined that a treaty should be made between the 
King and the Emperor, and the Emperor sware to keep 
all the conditions thereof. Nevertheless, on the follow- 
ing night, the Emperor, by the advice of a treacherous 
knight named Pain de Caiffa, fled away to his city of 
Famagusta. Thereupon King Richard pursued after 
him in his galleys, and took the city of Nicosia and the 
three forts called Cherines, Didimus, and Bufevent ; 
and in Cherines was taken the Emperor’s daughter and 
his treasure. Which when the Emperor heard, he was 
nearly mad with grief, and came humbly to King Richard 
and fell on his knees before him and submitted himself 
wholly to his mercy. But the King, moved with pity, 
raised him up and made him sit beside him ; also he 
had his daughter brought to him, whom he embraced 
with marvellous joy, while tears started from his 
eyes. 

Thus the King took all Cyprus into his hand in 
fifteen days ; and in the same time he was wedded to 
Berengaria, daughter of the King of Navarre, at Limasol, 
and there she was crowned queen. Then when the 
marriage had been celebrated in royal manner, one 
day all the King’s galleys, which had long been looked 


28 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

for, arrived in port, and he added to them five ships 
which he had taken from the Emperor. 

And at the last he got his baggage on board, and 
took the queens in company to sail with a fair wind. 
But by chance he heard that the King of France was at 
point to take the city of Acre ; whereat he sighed deeply 
and cried, 6 May God withhold the .taking of Acre till 
I come . 5 Then making ready with all speed he went 
on board one of his largest and swiftest galleys, and 
rushed forward in advance, impatient of delay, as was 
his wont. 

2. The Siege of Acre 

Now, as with all haste they ploughed the sea, for the 
first time they had sight of the Holy Land. First they 
saw the fort called Merkeb, then Tortusa on the sea- 
shore, then Tripolis, Enfeh, and Botrun ; and soon 
after appeared the high tower of Jebeil. Lastly, on 
this side of Sidon, opposite Beyrout, there bore in sight 
a ship filled with Saracens whom Saladin had chosen 
from all the Pagan Empire for the relief of the besieged 
in Acre ; and because of the Christian army, which was 
close at hand, they were standing out to sea a little, 
waiting for the moment to dash suddenly into the port. 
King Richard, perceiving the ship, sent Peter des Barres, 
captain of one of his galleys, to inquire who commanded 
it ; and when they answered that it belonged to the 
King of France, the King eagerly drew near to it. But it 
had no mark of the French, nor any ensign nor banner 
of the Christians to bear them out ; and when he 
looked at it nearly, the King was astonished at its great 
size and solid build, for it towered up with three tall 
masts, and its sides were painted green and yellow, and 


THE SIEGE OF ACRE 29 

it was abundantly furnished in the best manner. The 
King therefore sent again to inquire, and when, instead 
of their former answer, they replied that they were Geno- 
ese, bound for Tyre, one of our galley-men said to the 
King, 6 1 give you free leave to cut off my hand, or hang 
me up, if I do not prove these men to be Saracens.’ 
So, by the King’s command, a galley was sent at full 
speed after them, for they were making off ; and when 
the galley reached their ship and rowed by without giving 
a salute, they began to throw darts and arrows at our 
men. Then the King ordered the ship to be attacked 
forthwith. 

But though our galley-men rowed round and round 
the ship, they could not find where to attack it ; for it was 
solid and well built and defended by a guard of soldiers, 
who threw darts without ceasing. Our men took it 
hard to face darts flung from a ship much higher than 
their own ; they hung back therefore, to see what their 
unconquered and high-hearted King would think of 
such a case. But he shouted loudly, 6 Will you let the 
ship go off untouched ? Shame ! Have you grown 
slack, after so many victories ? Is it the time to rest, 
when luck has thrown an enemy in your way ? You 
shall be hanged, every man of you, if you let them get 
away.’ Our men therefore made a virtue of necessity, 
and leaped into the sea, diving under the ship and foul- 
ing the rudder with ropes ; others caught hold of the 
cables and swarmed on board. The Turks received 
them stoutly and cut them down, chopping off hands, 
arms, and heads as they came aboard, and throwing the 
bodies into the sea. Then other of our men, fired with 
anger and revenge, made a yet fiercer onslaught, and 
leaped over the bulwarks and rushed upon the Turks 


30 RICHARD C(EUR DE LION 

hand to hand. And at last, with a mighty effort, they 
drove the enemy back to the prow of the ship ; but 
other Turks, young and picked men, well armed, rushed 
up from below, and drove our men back and forced them 
overboard. 

Then the King, seeing the peril of his men, and judg- 
ing that it would be hard to take the Turks with all their 
arms and provisions, commanded that all the galleys 
should ram the ship with their spurs, that is, their iron 
beaks. So the galleys drew off, and then came on at a 
quick stroke to ram, and the ship was instantly broken 
and began to make water and sink. When the Turks 
saw this they leapt into the sea, and our men killed 
some and drowned others. The King saved thirty- 
five alive, namely the admirals and skilled engineers. 
The rest all perished, and their arms sank, and their 
serpents ; for they had aboard great store of Greek fire, 
in bottles, and two hundred deadly serpents for the 
destruction of the Christians. And if that ship had 
arrived safe at the siege of Acre, the Christians would 
never have taken the city. 

So King Richard, with all his following, hastened 
on towards Acre to his heart’s desire, and cast anchor 
that night off Tyre. On the morrow he weighed and 
set sail, and had not gone far when he sighted Scanderoon 
— then, after passing Casal Imbert, he saw the high tower 
of Acre, and little by little the rest of the battlements of 
the city. It lay besieged on every side by an infinite 
multitude gathered from every Christian nation under 
heaven, now trained to arms and the toil of war ; for the 
city had been long besieged. Also, on the outer side of 
these, was the Turkish army, in number past counting, 
and covering mountain and valley, hill and plain, with 


THE SIEGE OF ACRE 31 

tents of diverse shapes and radiant colours. There 
also were seen the pavilions of Saladin himself and the . 
tents of his brother Saphadin 1 and of Tchehedin, the 
high steward of Paganism. King Richard gazed at all 
their army, and reckoned it up ; then when he put into 
port, the princes, chiefs, and nobles of the whole army 
came to meet him with joy and exultation, for they had 
been longing eagerly for his coming. The people showed 
their joy by shouts of welcome and blowing of trumpets. 
But with the besieged Turks it was the other way about ; 
they were terrified and cast down, for they considered 
how there would be no more coming and going for them, 
because of the multitude of the King’s galleys. 

Then King Richard betook himself to the tents 
prepared for him and disposed himself for business ; 
for he had many things on his mind, as by what efforts, 
tactics, or machines, the city could be more quickly 
taken. As for the joy of the people at his arrival, no 
pen could possibly describe it nor tongue tell it. Even 
the calm night seemed to shine upon them from a 
clearer sky. On this side trumpets blared, on that side 
horns ; here shrill fifes were heard, and there drums, 
or the deeper notes of the harp ; and out of all these 
discordant sounds arose a kind of harmony that soothed 
the ear. None could be found who did not show his 
joy in his own fashion ; singing popular ballads for 
gladness of heart, or reciting ancient deeds for an example 
to modern times. Some drank to the health of the 
singers ; others spent the night in dancing with all who 
came, high or low. And to lighten the darkness waxen 
torches and flares blazed on every side, so that night 
seemed to have borrowed the brightness of day, and 
1 Saphah-din. 


32 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

the Turks thought that the whole valley was on fire 
together. 

By the union of the forces of the two kings the 
whole Christian host became one army. With the 
King of France was the Marquis of Montferrat, w r ho 
aspired to be King of Jerusalem ; with the King of 
England was Guy, the rightful King of Jerusalem, who 
had lost his kingdom to Saladin. King Richard was 
praised of all : 4 Here,’ they said, 4 is the man we have 
so longed to see, when will the assault be made ? Now 
the best of kings has come, now let God’s will be done.’ 
Their hopes were all on King Richard. But when he 
had been there a few days he fell sick of the grievous 
disease called Arnold’s disease, from the strangeness 
of the climate, which did not suit him. But for all 
that he had stone-throwers and mangonels set up, and 
a fort in front of the city gates, and gave much care to 
the building and finishing of machines. 

The King of France, disdaining this delay* sent 
word to King Richard that now was the moment for 
making the assault. King Richard showed that he 
was not yet ready, both on account of his sickness and 
also because some of his men were late in arriving, being 
wind-bound, but he hoped that they would come in the 
next fleet and bring material for making the machines. 
The King of France, however, not choosing for that to 
quit his purpose, sent orders through the army, by a 
herald, for the assault. Then you might have seen a 
multitude of armed men trained in arms, and so many 
coats of mail, gleaming helmets, noble chargers, pennons, 
banners and picked troops as were never seen before. 
And when the besieged Turks saw all this, they set up 
a voice like thunder with shouts and blare of horns, 


33 


THE SIEGE OF ACRE 

signalling to Saladin and the army outside to come to 
their succour, as they had agreed beforehand. Then 
the Turks from without gathered in a body, and got 
together everything within reach to fill up our trenches, 
and essayed to cross over and attack our men ; but in 
this they failed. Nevertheless so heavy was the fighting, 
that our men who were assaulting the town were forced 
to retire, for they were not enough to attack and also 
to defend their camp ; and many of the French perished, 
slain by darts and stones and Greek fire, and there was 
great complaining and crying out among the people* 
4 Oh, why did we so long look forward to the coming of 
the Kings ? Our hopes have failed ; they are here, 
and we are none the better, but our losses are heavier 
than before.’ The Turks also gibed at them shame- 
fully, and threw Greek fire on the machines which the 
King of France had built with such care, and destroyed 
them one after another. Whereat the King of France 
was so upset with rage and fury that from grief he fell, 
it was said, into a languid sickness, and could no longer 
mount his horse, for confusion and despair. 

The two Kings were now both sick. The King of 
France recovered first, and turned his mind to the 
building of machines and stoners, which he intended 
to ply day and night. He had one very good one 
which he called Malvoisin or 4 Bad Neighbour.’ The 
Turks in the city had another which they called * Bad 
Kinswoman,’ and by her violent casts she used frequently 
to knock Bad Neighbour to pieces ; but the King of 
France kept rebuilding it, until by firing volleys he 
broke down part of the main wall and shook the tower 
called Maledictum or 4 the Accursed.’ From one position 
the stoner of the Duke of Burgundy shot effectually, 

D 


34 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

from another that of the Templars, and from a third 
that of the Hospitallers. Besides these there was 
another stoner, built by subscription, which was called 
‘ God’s stoner.’ Close to. it a priest used to preach 
assiduously, a very honest man who raised much money 
for restoring the engine and hiring men to bring stones 
for it to throw. By this machine a part of the wall, 
two poles’ length, near the tower Accursed, was at 
length shaken down. The Count of Flanders, too, had a 
choice stoner, which after his death belonged to King 
Richard, and another good one but smaller. Besides 
these King Richard had made two other new ones of 
choice material and workmanship, which would hit 
any spot you pleased with unspeakable accuracy. He 
had also built a machine commonly called ‘ Berefred,’ 
with very strong sides, and steps to mount it, and covered 
with hides and ropes and solid timber, so that it could 
not be shattered by stones or injured by pouring on 
Greek fire or other stuff. He also prepared two man- 
gonels, one of which was of such power that its shots 
reached the inner streets of the city market-place. So 
the stoners of King Richard kept shooting day and night 
in volleys, and it is known for certain that a single 
stone from one of them struck twelve men down dead. 
The stone was afterwards sent for Saladin to see, and 
those who brought it told him that that devil of a King 
of England had brought these sea pebbles from Messina 
to punish the Saracens, and nothing could resist them, 
for they shattered or pulverised all. 

Amongst other engines the King of France had pre- 
pared one for scaling the walls, called a 6 Cat,’ because, 
like a cat, it crept up and clung to .the wall. But one 
day the Turks let down upon it a heap of very dry 


THE SIEGE OF ACRE 35 

wood, and threw upon it Greek fire, and aimed a stoner 



Richard watches the Stoners at Work at the Siege of Acre. 

at it, and when it had caught fire broke it in pieces 



36 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

with their shots. Upon this the King of France was 
enraged beyond measure, and in the heat of his passion, 
when the day was drawing in, he gave orders by voice 
of herald that an assault should be made on the city 
on the morrow. 

This assault failed by reason of a memorable deed, 
not to be passed over in silence. There was a famous 
man of valour named Alberic Clements, who, when he 
saw the French sweating to little purpose, cried with 
great spirit, 4 This day, I will either die or, please God, 
I will go into Acre.’ With that he boldly mounted the 
ladder, reached the top of the wall, and killed many of 
the Turks who rushed upon him. The French would 
have followed him, but the ladder could not bear them 
all ; so that they fell and some were killed, others were 
dragged out much hurt. The Turks shouted with joy. 
Alberic Clements, left alone on the top of the wall, 
was surrounded and pierced with innumerable wounds. 
So his words came true, for that day he fell a martyr 
and failed to go into Acre because he was cut off from 
all support. The French were much discouraged by 
his death, and gave up the assault. 

Now King Richard was not yet fully recovered ; 
nevertheless he was intent upon taking the city, and 
ordained that his men should try an assault. Perceiving 
therefore how difficult success was against so warlike 
an enemy, he thought it better to incite his younger 
men by rewards than to urge them on by severity. He 
ordered the herald to proclaim a reward of two gold 
pieces, afterwards raised to three and four, to whoever 
should knock out a stone from the walls, near the 
aforesaid tower. And he had himself carried to the 
fight on a silken litter, under cover of a great hurdle 



“ King- Richard with a deadly shot of his arbalest, pierced him 
fairly through the breast,” 





37 


THE SIEGE OF ACRE 

very stoutly put together ; and from this he shot with 
his arbalest, being a good marksman, and killed many 
of the enemy. One of the Turks, flaunting in the 
armour of the aforesaid Alberic Clements, which he had 
put on, was bragging against our men on a high part 
of the wall, but King Richard with a deadly shot of 
his arbalest pierced him fairly through the breast. The 
Turks, in grief at his fall, rushed to avenge him, as if 
they feared neither darts nor bolts. They struck, they 
pushed, they charged our troops like madmen ; never 
were men of any creed finer fighters or better at defence. 
The very memory of their deeds is astounding. Our 
men were compelled to retreat, and the enemy began to 
shout loudly as if victorious. Then again our esquires 
and the Pisans attacked them and mounted the tower 
in force, but again they were driven back ; for no race 
was ever seen like those Turks for efficiency in war. 
They must be admired for their valour and their honesty 
all round ; if they had been of the right faith, there 
would have been, humanly speaking, no better men on 
earth. 

Yet they dreaded our men, not without reason ; 
and they begged a truce to inform Saladin of their 
condition, but nothing was accomplished. Meanwhile 
the stoners of the Christians never ceased to shake the 
walls, day and night ; and when the Turks saw this, 
they were at last smitten with terror and confusion ; and 
many, yielding to fear, dropped over the walls at night 
and deserted. Then Saladin, seeing the danger of 
delay, assented to their making the best terms they 
could ; and forthwith the chief men of the city went to 
the Kings and offered to give up unconditionally the 
city of Acre, and surrender the Holy Cross and 250 noble 


38 RICHARD CCEUR BE LION 

Christian prisoners ; and when our people refused, they 
offered 2000 noble prisoners and 500 of inferior rank, 
whom Saladin was to seek out from all his dominions, 
the Turks to give up all arms, goodk, and provisions and 
to march out in their shirts only ; and as ransom for 
their own lives to pay the two Kings 200,000 Saracen 
talents. After the two Kings had consulted with the 
wisest of their chief men, the opinion of all was for 
accepting the offer. Thus, on the Friday after the 
Translation of St. Benedict, the richest and noblest 
of the Saracen admirals were given and accepted 
as hostages, and the space of one month was fixed 
for collecting the prisoners and giving up the Holy 
Cross. 

Then it was forbidden, by voice of herald, that any 
should molest the Turks by word or deed, or provoke 
them by abuse ; and when the day came when the 
Turks, so admired for their honesty and courage, so 
strenuous in war and so famed for magnificence, were 
going to and fro on the walls ready to leave the city, the 
Christians went out to look at them in admiration for 
their fighting and to renew the memory of it. They were 
also astonished at the becoming countenances of those 
who were driven from their city almost destitute, and 
their bearing unsubdued by severity. Forced only by 
extreme necessity to own themselves conquered, they 
were neither crushed by care nor dejected by loss of 
goods ; their faces were steadfast, their fierce looks 
seemed almost a claim to victory. At last, when they 
had all departed, the Christians, by order of the two 
Kings, entered the city freely through the open gates, 
with dances and joy, and with uplifted voices praising 
the Lord and giving thanks. Then the banners and 


THE MARCH ON JERUSALEM 39 

various standards of the two Kings were set up over 
the walls and towers, and the city was equally divided 
between them. 

3. The March on Jerusalem 

On the following Monday it was two years to a day 
since the siege of Acre was begun by the Christians ; 
and on the morrow of St. Bartholomew, being Sunday, 
the army was drawn up to advance along the sea-coast, 
in the name of the Lord. King Richard led the first 
line and had the vanguard ; the Normans formed the 
escort for the Standard. This was a great pole like a 
ship’s mast, carried on four wheels in a solid square 
base, with panelled sides dovetailed and armour-plated, 
impervious to sword, axe or fire. A picked body of 
troops were generally set to guard it, especially in open 
fighting, lest an enemy attack should injure or upset it ; 
for if, by any accident, it fell, the army would be scattered 
or thrown into confusion, for lack of a rally ing-point. 
But while it remains upright they have a sure refuge : 
to it they bring the weak and wmunded, and even the 
dead, if they happen to be famous or of high rank ; 
and so, because it stands as a signal to the army, it 
is called the Standard. It is quite consistent that it 
should be on wheels ; for, according to the state of the 
battle, it follows the enemy’s retreat, or retires before 
his advance. It was now escorted by the Normans and 
English. 

The army advanced by the coast, beating off many 
attacks of the Turks, but suffering much from thirst 
and from the weight of their packs. As each night 
came round, we were attacked by a sort of reptile called 
tarantulas, which have most atrocious stings ; those who 


40 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

were stung by them immediately swelled up with the 
poison, and suffered agonies of torture. The rich and 
great relieved their pain with Tyrian ointment ; and 
at last the more careful observers, noticing that the 
pestilent reptiles were frightened by loud sounds, started 
the plan of making as much noise as possible at their 
approach, hammering on their shields, helmets, seats, 
poles, casks, flagons, basins, platters, cauldrons, and 
anything else that came handy, and so drove the beasts 
away. It was also the custom of the army that every 
night, before lying down to sleep, a man appointed for 
this purpose called out with a loud voice, in the middle 
of the camp, 4 Help ! for the Holy Sepulchre ! 5 At this 
cry all shouted together the same words, stretching out 
their hands to heaven with many tears and imploring 
God’s mercy and aid. Then the herald himself used 
to cry the words a second time, 4 Help ! for the Holy 
Sepulchre ! ’ and again they repeated them ; and so in 
like manner they all made the same response, the third 
time, with great searching of heart and much weeping. 
Who could control himself at such a moment ? Even 
to tell the story might well bring tears from those w T ho 
hear it. And by crying out in this fashion, the army 
found themselves in no small degree refreshed. 

After a very hard march of some days they reached 
Caesarea, where, by the King’s orders, the royal fleet had 
come with a number of men and a sufficient quantity 
of victuals. There the army pitched their tents, and 
spent the night by a river near the city, called the 
Crocodile River, because there crocodiles once devoured 
two soldiers while bathing. After some days they 
again advanced through a desolate mountainous country. 
The Templars had the rearguard and lost so many horses 


THE MARCH ON JERUSALEM 41 

from the Turks’ attacks that they were almost in despair. 
On that day the King was wounded in the side by a 
javelin while he was cutting down the Turks and driving 
them off ; but he was only slightly touched, and the 
smart of the wound made him the more keen and whetted 
his appetite for revenge ; he fought hard all day without 
a halt, and beat off the Turks by organised charges. 
Our men spent that night at the Salt River and stayed 
there two days. There was no small crush here over the 
carcasses of the horses which had been killed. The crowd 
were so eager to buy the flesh, even at a high price, that 
they actually came to blows. When the King heard 
this, he proclaimed that he would give a live horse to 
anyone who would distribute his dead one to the best 
man in his service who needed it. So they ate horse- 
flesh as if it were game, and with hunger for sauce they 
thought it delicious. 

Two days afterwards they advanced towards Arsuf, 
carefully marshalled by King Richard to do battle with 
the Turks, whom they had vowed to attack that day 
with all their might. The enemy appeared about nine 
o’clock — first, 10,000 Turks shooting and yelling, then a 
host of black goblins called negroes, then the Saracens 
of the desert, called Bedouins ; they covered two miles 
of ground, closely massed. Our arbalesters and archers 
repelled them stoutly for some time, till they were 
swamped by the flood of enemies. The best of them then 
continued the march backwards, with their faces still 
towards the foe. The Hospitallers, too, in the rearguard, 
were nearly crushed, and being forbidden to charge by 
King Richard, two of them by disobedience led away 
the rest and so reversed the order of the march. The 
King, on seeing this, came from the extreme front, spurred 


42 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

with all his following to the rescue, right through the 
Hospitallers who had begun the charge, and hurled 
himself like a thunderbolt on the Turkish infantry, who 
gave way, falling to right and left. The Normans and 
English also, who were in charge of the standard, came 
slowly up to the troops who were engaged, stopping a 
little way off, that all might have a fixed rallying-point- 
The final charge was led by William des Barres, a very 
distinguished knight, who broke the Turkish line, cut 
down some of them and routed the remainder. The 
King on a big Cyprian charger, with a picked company, 
followed them up the hills, sparks flying from his sword 
and helms ringing beneath it. At last our men returned 
to the standard, dressed their ranks, and marched on 
Arsuf, where they pitched tents outside the town. As 
they were doing this, a huge column of Turks attacked 
our rear. King Richard, hearing the noise, called on his 
men, and with only fifteen companions charged the 
enemy with loose rein, shouting 4 Help us, God and the 
Holy Sepulchre ! ’ Our men hastened to follow him, 
broke the Turks, and scattered them as far as Arsuf, 
from whence they had first come out. Then the King 
returned from slaughtering the Turks, and came into 
camp, and his tired men slept that night in peace. 

The Sultan, hearing that his choice troops had been 
so routed, was filled with anger and confusion. He 
summoned his admirals and said to them, 4 Eya ! how 
splendidly my men have behaved, after all their boasting 
and arrogance ! They have got the war they wanted, 
but where is the victory they bragged about ? 9 At 
these words, and more of the same kind, the admirals 
looked down in silence, till one of them (named Sanscuns 
of Aleppo) replied, 4 Most sacred Sultan, saving your 


THE MARCH ON JERUSALEM 43 

Majesty, you blame us unjustly, for we did our best, 
both in charging the Franks and in meeting their counter- 
attacks. Nothing is of any use against them ; they are 
armed, not like us, but in impenetrable armour. And 
moreover there is one of them about whom'!' there is 
something most astonishing. It is he who confounds 
and destroys us — we have never seen his like. He is 
always first and foremost, and no one can stand up to 
him or save those whom he has once gripped. They 
call him, in their language, Melech Richard. Such a 
King deserves to have the whole earth for his dominion. 
And what more can we do against a man so strong and 
so invincible ? 9 

About this time King Richard happened to be out 
with a very small escort, to take a walk with his falcons, 
and if he saw any Turks to reconnoitre them and catch 
them unawares. Being tired with his march he chanced 
to fall asleep, and some Turks, observing this, made a 
great dash to capture him. He drew his sword and 
charged ; they led him into an ambush and surrounded 
him. But suddenly one of his companions, named 
William de Pratelles, called out in the Saracen language 
that he himself was 4 Melech , 5 that is, the King, and 
the Turks, believing it, immediately took William and 
carried him away prisoner. Hearing the news, a force 
came out at full gallop to find the King ; he turned 
with them and pursued the Turks, but being unable 
to overtake them he returned to camp. His men 
exulted with joy at his escape, but grieved for William 
de Pratelles, who had loyally and generously given 
himself up to the enemy and freely ransomed his lord 
the King with his own body. 

Again, on St. Leonard’s Day, some esquires and 


44 RICHARD CGEUR DE LION 

servants had gone out to get fodder, with an escort of 
Templars. Suddenly about four thousand mounted 
Turks rushed upon them. Andrew de Chavigny with 
fifteen knights galloped to the rescue, and a fight 
raged, till King Richard, who was busy rebuilding Casal 
Maen, heard of it and sent help. Soon afterwards he 
himself came up furious, and as the fight was all mixed 
up and his force greatly outnumbered, some of his 
people said to him, 4 My Lord King, in our opinion 
it is not fitting to undertake what cannot be carried 
through. We are too few to face so strong an enemy 
with safety ; since we cannot rescue our friends, it 
would be better to leave them to perish than to get 
you too cut off with them and lose the hope of 
Christendom. The sanest counsel is to keep you safe, 
while we can still refuse the risk.’ At this advice the 
King changed colour with indignation, and replied, 

4 After sending forward my dear comrades and pledging 
myself to support them, if I do not keep my word to 
the utmost of my power, if by my default they meet 
their death, which God forbid, I will never again be 
called a King.’ He said no more, but spurred hotly, 
not to say furiously, into the midst of the Turks, and 
broke their ranks ; then turned upon them again with 
flashing sword, coming and going this way and that, 
like a lion fearless whom he might encounter. Among 
the rest he slew an admiral, a brave and famous man, 
whom fate threw in his way. In short, the enemy 
were all routed, killed, or captured. 

Saladin now retreated to Jerusalem, whereupon 
there was great rejoicing in our army, for they hoped 
soon to reach the long-desired Sepulchre of our Lord. 
They rubbed up their armour, their helms, and their 


45 


THE LAST BATTLE 

swords, lest their brightness should be spoiled by damp ; 
and boasted loudly that, in spite of all the Saracens could 
do to stop them, they were going to fulfil their vow 
of long ago. But the wiser ones did not think fit to 
acquiesce in these desires ; for the Templars, Hospitallers, 
and others who lived in that country, with a sharper 
eye to the future, dissuaded King Richard from marching 
on Jerusalem at that moment, and urged that the city 
of Ascalon should first be rebuilt, to keep watch for the 
Turkish food convoys going from Egypt to Jerusalem. 
To this the majority of the council assented. When 
the army received the announcement of the decision 
to retreat they were indescribably smitten with grief, 
groaning and lamenting that the hope of visiting the 
Lord’s Sepulchre, which they had cherished deep in 
their hearts, was thus suddenly cut away from them. 
And there was a story told long afterwards how, when 
this news was being discussed, one of the King’s officers 
called out, 4 Sire, Sire, only come hither, and I will show 
you Jerusalem.’ But the King said with tears, holding 
his mailed hands before his face, 4 Ah ! Lord God, I pray 
Thee that I may never see Thy Holy City of Jerusalem, 
since it hath fallen out thus and I cannot deliver it out 
of the hands of Thine enemies.’ 

4. The Last Battle 

Meanwhile a certain depraved set of men among 
the Saracens called Mamelukes, of Aleppo, and Kurds, 
very active young fellows, met together to talk over 
the state of affairs. They said it was a scandal that 
such a huge host as theirs should have abandoned Joppa 
in face of an army so small and short of horses ; they 
reproached themselves, and ended by making an 


46 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

arrogant compact to kidnap King Richard in his tent 
and bring him to Saladin, who would most gratefully 
reward them. 

They therefore sallied forth armed at midnight, by 
the light of the moon; but on their way the Kurds, 
being mounted, fell to disputing with the Mamelukes, 
who were on foot, as to which party should seize the 
King and his men, and which should cut them off from 
escaping to the fort. When at last they were agreed 
and went hastily forward, the first streaks of dawn 
were already appearing ; and now, by the providence 
of God, who would not that His champion and devoted 
servant should be taken in his sleep by infidels, a certain 
Genoese was inspired to go out very early into the 
fields. There, in the faint light, he was astonished to 
hear a noise as of men and horses marching ; and stoop- 
ing down, he saw against the sky the crests of helmets 
glimmering. At that he ran back to the camp in 
haste shouting repeatedly, 6 To arms ! ’ The King was 
awakened by his shouts, and leapt startled from his 
bed, put on his coat of chain-mail and ordered his men 
to be roused at once. 

Lord God of valour ! who would not be perturbed 
by so sudden an alarm ? The King himself and all 
the men he could raise, in the urgency of the moment, 
rushed to battle with their shins uncovered, armed 
anyhow, some even without their breeches, though 
they would have to fight as they were all day. Mean- 
while the Turks came on. The King mounted ; he 
had only ten knights with him, and these are their 
names : Count Henry of Champagne, the Earl of 
Leicester, Bartholomew Mortimer, Ralph de Mauleon, 
Andrew de Chavigny, Gerard de Furnival, Roger de 


THE LAST BATTLE 47 

Sacy, William de la Mare, Hugh de Villeneuve, a very 
good servant, and Henry, the King’s standard-bearer. 
These alone had horses, and even what they had were 



King Richard aroused by the Night Alarm. 


some of them underbred and feeble animals, untrained 
to arms. The troops were skilfully drawn up in lines 
and columns, with officers to keep them in order. The 
knights were posted nearer the shore, with their left 
near the Church of St. Nicholas, for the Turks had 


48 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 

launched their heaviest attack in that direction. Out- 
side the gardens of the suburbs were the Pisans and 
Genoese, with sundry others. 

The Turks began by charging with horrid yells, 
and a thick shower of darts and arrows. Our men 
prepared to receive this reckless attack as best they 
could, each kneeling on his right knee with toes fixed 
in the earth, so that they might the better hold together 
and keep their ground. Their left hands held forward 
their shields, targes, and bucklers ; in their right hands 
were their spears, the butts of which were fixed in the 
ground and the steel points turned to meet the enemy. 
The King, who was a master of war, placed between 
every two of the men thus covered with their shields, 
an arbalester with another behind him to help in load- 
ing more quickly, so that while one was shooting the 
other was cocking the second arbalest. This was a good 
plan for our men and a very bad one for the enemy. 
So, when he had arranged everything as well as the 
shortness of time and the smallness of our numbers 
allowed, the King went quickly along the line, cheering 
everyone, exhorting them to stand fast, and damning 
all slackness and fear. ‘ Harden your hearts against 
the enemy,’ he said, 6 and you will weather the storm 
yet. Show that you can stand bad luck — there is 
nothing that cannot be borne by a manly heart — in 
good times courage is cast into the shade, in adversity 
it shines out. Besides, there is no chance for flight; 
the enemy are all round us and it would be certain 
death. Hold on, then, and let your bitter need put 
courage into you ; it is a man’s choice, to win bravely’ 
or die with honour. We should accept martyrdom 
with a thankful spirit ; but before we die let us avenge 


THE LAST BATTLE 49 

our death, and thank God that He has granted us the 
end we looked for. This will be the reward of our 
labours, to end both our life and our wars together.’ 

He had hardly done speaking when the hostile army 
rushed headlong upon them in seven squadrons, each 
of about a thousand horse. Our men received the 
onslaught unmoved, with their right feet firmly fixed 
in the sand and their spear-points forward ; if they had 
budged an inch, the Turks would have broken through. 
But finding, when they came to the charge, that our men 
were immovable, their first line swerved away to one 
side and our arbalesters caught them, as they recoiled, 
with a thick hail of missiles, shooting down many men 
and horses. The second line at once came on ; and 
swerved away in the same manner. In this way the 
Turks came again and again like a whirlwind, hoping 
that without an actual attack our men would scatter 
and give them a chance of getting at them ; and each 
time, when they seemed to be on the point of engaging, 
they craftily drew rein and turned away. The King 
and his knights, when they saw no end to this, put 
lance in rest and spurred into the thickest of the enemy, 
emptying their saddles right and left and spearing 
many ; they had started with such impetus that they 
went through the whole force and only pulled up in the 
last Turkish line. 

Suddenly the King looked to one side and saw, close 
by, the noble Earl of Leicester, dismounted and fighting 
splendidly. Instantly he snatched him from the hands 
of those who were overwhelming him, and helped him 
to remount. Then there was a terrific fight ; the Turks 
gathered round and pressed on with all their might to 
crush our little company. Stung by our success, they 


% 


50 RICHARD C(EUR DE LION 

rushed toward the Royal Lion standard, for they would 
rather have had the King’s life than a thousand others. 
In the very thick of this fight the King saw Ralph de 
Mauleon being dragged away a prisoner, and came to the 
rescue at full gallop, driving off the Turks and saving 
Ralph for his own service. 

The King was like a giant in battle, with valour 
for his royal prerogative ; so far beyond all example 
was his fighting, with such swiftness and elegance did 
he turn on every side upon the thousands of his enemies 
that no man however famous, no prince however brave 
or powerful, could even distantly approach his reputa- 
tion. That day he played the man against the horde of 
yelling Turks, and with his lightning sword cut down 
countless numbers of them. Some he cleft from helm to 
teeth ; from others he slashed off heads, arms, and other 
members ; such was his sword-play that his right hand 
was galled and blistered with continual smiting. While 
the King was thus toiling in fight beyond belief, suddenly 
a Turk was seen coming rapidly towards him, mounted 
on a fine horse covered with foam. He was sent by 
Saphadin of Arcadia, Saladin’s brother, a liberal and 
munificent man, who might have ranked with the best 
if he had not rejected the Christian faith. This Saphadin 
then sent to the King two Arab horses of the finest breed, 
a gift in accord with his well-known honourable char- 
acter ; earnestly begging that, as the King seemed to need 
them at the moment, he would accept and mount them, 
and that if by God’s grace he came safe and sound out 
of the danger which threatened him, he would bear the 
gift in mind and make what return he should think fit. 
The King accepted the horses and afterwards made him 
a magnificent recompense. What a virtue is chivalry. 


r 


THE LAST BATTLE 51 

even in a foe ! Thus a Turk and an enemy felt himself 
bound to do honour to the King for his surpassing 
valour. And the King did not refuse his gift, especially 
at so tight a moment, but vowed that he would accept 
any number of such horses even from a bitterer foe, for 
he needed them in such an affair as this. 

Meanwhile the Turks, with a shout, began to enter 
the town on all sides. The King heard them and in- 
stantly rushed in with only two knights, but taking some 
arbalesters with him. In one of the streets he met 
three Turks magnificently accoutred, cut them down 
in royal style and captured two of their horses. He then 
routed the rest in the town, placed guards there, and 
went down to the shore, where many of our men 
had taken refuge on board the galleys. These he led 
back and with them fell furiously upon the mass of the 
enemy, penetrating them and breaking them up com- 
pletely. Never was such a charge made by any single 
knight. Who ever heard of such a man ? His spirit 
never slackened — 

The tide of ills could never bear him down. 

Who could describe his blows ? Whoever felt one 
of them had no need of a second. With his strong 
right arm he cleft rider and horse alike. By one marvel- 
lous stroke he killed an admiral who charged him at full 
gallop. The King met him with lifted sword, and in spite 
of all his armour smote off his head, shoulder, and arm at 
a single blow. This took all spirit from the Turks and 
they gave way. The King returned safe and unhurt, 
but his body was stuck thick all over with darts, like a 
hedgehog, and his horse bristled with the arrows in his 
trappings. Seven hundred Turks lay dead on the field, 


52 RICHARD CGEUR DE LION 

and 1500 horses ; yet they did not, as they had boasted, 
bring back the King as a present for Saladin, who is 
said to have derided them, asking, 4 Where are the men 
who are bringing Melech, Richard here a prisoner ? 
Who was the first to take him ? Where is he, I say, and 
are you not going to produce him ? 5 To which one 
Turk, from the ends of the earth, replied, ‘ My Lord, this 
Melech you ask about is truly not like other men. 
Never since the world began has any such knight been 
heard of, so brave, so proved, so trained in arms. He is 
wisest in counsel, first in attack, last in retreat. We did 
our utmost to take him, but in vain ; for no one can 
escape his sword. To face his onset is terrible, to meet 
him is death, his deeds are beyond the measure of man.’ 

But forthwith, from the exertions of that day and 
the severity of the fighting, King Richard and our army 
fell into a languid sickness, partly from fatigue and 
partly from the smell of the dead bodies, which so 
infected the place that they all nearly died. The 
King’s health became so bad that he began to despair of 
recovery ; and, in his anxiety for others as well as for 
himself, he decided, after prudently weighing many 
plans, that the least objectionable would be to negotiate 
a truce, rather than to abandon his enterprise and leave 
the country to be devastated, as many others had done 
by sailing home in crowds. So he requested Saphadin, 
the brother of Saladin, to mediate between them, and he 
now with great zeal procured a truce on these terms : 
namely that Ascalon, which had always been a menace 
to Saladin’s government, should be dismantled and 
not rebuilt for the space of three years, but after that 
it might be reoccupied by whichever power was the 
stronger : that Joppa should be restored to the Chris- 
tians to be freely and peaceably inhabited, with all the 


53 


THE LAST BATTLE 

surrounding country : that peace should be kept strictly 
between Christians and Saracens, with leave for each 
to come and go everywhere as they pleased : that the 
Christians should have free access to the Holy Sepulchre 
without any kind of payment, and the right to import 
merchandise and trade freely throughout the whole 
country. This treaty, when drawn up in writing and 
submitted to King Richard, received his sanction ; for 
being ill, and backed by only a moderate force, with 
an enemy no more than two miles off, he could not hope 
for better terms. And whoever maintains a different 
opinion may consider himself guilty of wilful falsehood. 

The treaty having been ratified by deed and oath, 
the King had himself conveyed, as best he could, to 
Haipha, to take medicine for his cure. In the mean- 
time he announced by proclamation that any one who 
wished might visit our Lord’s Sepulchre, and the 
pilgrims were accordingly marshalled to go to Jerusalem 
in three companies, the first under Andrew de Chavigny, 
the second under Ralph Taissun, and the third under 
Hubert, Bishop of Salisbury. Saladin talked long and 
intimately with the Bishop, through an interpreter, 
and at last told him to ask for anything he liked and it 
should be granted him. The Bishop, with many thanks, 
begged to be allowed till next day to consider. Next 
day, then, he asked that at the Lord’s Sepulchre, which 
he had visited, and at which divine service was poorly 
performed in the outlandish manner of the Syrians, 
it might in future be celebrated, in conjunction with 
the Syrians, by two Latin priests and two deacons, to be 
maintained by the offertories of pilgrims, and similarly 
at Bethlehem and at Nazareth. This was a great 
thing to ask, and very pleasing, it is thought, to God. 
The Sultan granted the request, and the Bishop insti- 


54 RICHARD CGEUR DE LION 

tuted the priests and deacons, after which the pilgrims 
returned from Jerusalem to Acre. 

Meanwhile King Richard’s ship was fitted out for 
the voyage home. Then the King, of his own free will 
and generous impulse, gave for tke ransom of William 
de Pratelles (who, as you have heard, had let himself 
be captured in the King’s place) the liberty of ten 
Turks of the highest rank, though they would gladly 
have given an infinite sum of money to keep him ; 
but the King disdained to tarnish his generosity by 
any bargaining whatsoever. Also, when everything was 
settled and he was on the point of embarking, that 
nothing might detract from the perfection of his con- 
duct, he made proclamation that any creditors should 
come forward and that all his debts should be paid 
in full, and more. Then he went on board and set sail. 

All night the ship ran on beneath the stars; but 
when the next day dawned, the King looked back with 
loving eyes upon the land he had left, and after long 
meditation he praj^ed aloud in hearing of many : 4 O 
Holy Land, I commend thee now to God, and if Hi& 
loving grace shall grant me so long to live that in 
His good pleasure I may bring thee help, I hope, as 
I am purposed, some day to rescue thee.’ 

With what profound darkness our eyes are blinded f 
We measure out our life for long years, and know not 
what the morrow shall bring forth. Thus the King 
sent his thoughts into the far and doubtful future, and 
dealt in his spirit with time to come — hoping one day 
to recover the Lord’s Sepulchre, and forgetting altogether 
that 

All human things hang by a slender thread. 


ST. LOUIS, KING OF FRANCE 

1. How Youth went Crusading 

In the name of the Most Holy and Most Sovereign 
Trinity, I, John, Lord of Joinville, Seneschal of Cham- 
pagne, do indite and cause to be made into a book the 
life and most pious acts and sayings of my late lord St. 
Louis, King of France, from that which I myself saw 
or heard during the space of six whole years that I was 
in his company, as well in the holy voyage and pilgrimage 
beyond sea as since our return therefrom. This book 
will be divided into two parts, whereof this part will 
speak of his gallant chivalry and deeds of arms ; and 
the both parts will show plainly that no man of his time 
lived a more godly or conscientious life than he did, 
from the beginning of his reign to the end of it. 

This good King, St. Louis, as I have often heard say, 
was born on the feast day of St. Mark in the year of 
grace 1215. On this day crosses are carried in procession 
in divers parts of France, and are called 4 the Black 
Crosses,’ a sort of observance amongst the people to 
keep in memory the great multitudes who died, as it 
were crucified, in the voyages of their pious pilgrimage ; 
that is to say, in Egypt and before Carthage. This was 
the cause of much grief and lamentation in the world, 
but now there is great joy in Paradise among those who 
died for the faith of God in those devout pilgrimages. 

55 


56 


ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

He was crowned the first Sunday in Advent in the 
year 1226 , and in the year 1248 he took the cross in 
manner as I shall now relate. It happened that the 
good King was taken grievously ill at Paris, and so evil 
was his state that I have heard how one of the ladies 
who nursed him, thinking that all was over, would have 
covered his face with a sheet, but that another lady 
who was on the opposite side of the bed (so God willed 
it) would not suffer his face to be covered, or as it were 
buried, for she declared continually that his soul was 
still in his body. 

While these ladies were yet conversing, our Lord 
worked upon him, and gave him back his speech. The 
good King desired them to bring him a cross, and this 
they did. Then when the good lady, his mother, heard 
that he had got his speech again, she was in the greatest 
joy that could be ; but when she came and saw that he 
had put on the cross she was struck with fear, and made 
as though she would rather have seen him lying dead. 

In like manner as the King had put on the cross, 
so did Robert, Count of Artois ; Alphonse, Count of 
Poitiers ; Charles, Count of Anjou, who was afterwards 
King of Sicily, all three brothers to the King ; and many 
others. Among the rest were Sir Gilbert of Apremont 
and his brothers, in whose company (being my cousins), 
I, John of Joinville, crossed the sea in a little ship 
which we hired ; and we were twenty knights in all, of 
whom ten came with me and ten with my cousins. 

Before I departed I summoned all my men and 
vassals of Joinville, who came to me on the vigil of 
Easter Day, and on the same day was born my son 
John, Lord of Acerville. During that whole week I 
was busy in feast and banquets, with my brother 



HOW YOUTH WENT CRUSADING 57 

Geoffrey of Vaucouleurs and all the great folk of that 
part of the country ; wherein, after eating and drinking, 
we solaced ourselves with songs and led a joyous life. 
When Friday came I spoke thus to them : c Sirs, know 


St. Louis puts on the Cross. 

that I am about to go to the Holy Land, and it is un- 
certain whether I shall return ; if, therefore, there be 
any of you to whom I have done wrong, or who thinks 
he has cause to complain, let him come forward, for I 
will make him amends as I am wont to do those who 
complain of me or of my people. 5 This I did according 
to the custom of my country and my lands ; and that 


58 


ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

they might not be awed by my presence while they 
took counsel together, I withdrew from them, for I 
wished to accept what they might say without restraint. 
Also I was unwilling to take away with me one penny 
wrongfully, and to fulfil such demands as might be made, 
I had pawned to certain friends great part of my in- 
heritance, so that there was not left to me at most 1200 
livres of yearly revenue ; for my lady mother was still 
living, who held the best of my lands in dower. 1 

When I was nearly ready to set out I sent for the 
Abbot of Cheminon, reputed the most worthy of all 
the White Monks, that I might make my peace with 
him. He gave me my scarf and bound it on me, and 
likewise put my pilgrim’s staff in my hand. After 
which I left the castle of Joinville, never to enter 
therein again until I returned from oversea. Then, on 
foot, without shoes and in my pilgrim’s shirt, I visited 
all the holy places hard by, such as Blechicourt, St. 
Urban’s, and others. But as I journeyed from Blechi- 
court to St. Urban’s, being compelled to pass near to 
the castle of Joinville, I dared not turn my eyes that 
way, for fear of too great regret, and lest my courage 
should fail me at leaving my two babes and my fair 
castle of Joinville, which I loved in my heart. 

Then we went to dine at Fontaine l’Archeveque near 
Donjeux ; and there the Abbot of St. Urban’s — God 
rest his soul ! — gave to me and my knights many very 
fine jewels. We then took our leave of him and went 
straight to Auxonne, where we embarked on the Saone 
for Lyons with our armour, and our chargers were led 
along the banks. It was in the month of August in 

1 He was at this time twenty-two years old, and his mother about 
forty. 



The Lord of Joinville on his way to the Crusade. 











































































































































THE CAPTURE OF DAMIETTA 59 

this same year that we took ship at the Rock of 
Marseilles. The sally-port of the ship was opened, that 
the horses might enter which we were to take over- 
seas with us. When we were all aboard, the port was 
shut to, and caulked up as close as a tun of wine, because, 
when the ship was at sea, the port was under water. 
Then the captain of the ship called out to his people 
on the prow, 4 Is all done ? Are we ready ? ’ and they 
replied, 4 Ay, truly, we are ready.’ Then the captain 
made the priests and clerks mount to the turret of 
the ship and chant in praise of God, that He might be 
pleased to grant us a prosperous voyage. They all, with 
a loud voice, sang the hymn Veni, Creator Spirilus , 
from the beginning to the end ; and as they sang, the 
mariners set the sails in God’s name. And in no long 
time a wind filled our sails and took us out of sight of 
land, so that we only saw sea and sky, and each day 
we were further away from the places where we had 
set forth. 

2. The Capture of Damietta 

When we landed at Cyprus we found that the good 
King St. Louis was already there, and had laid in great 
store of provision. On my arrival I had but twelve 
score livres in gold and silver, after paying the freightage 
of the ship ; so that many of my knights told me they 
would leave me if I did not better provide myself with 
money. Thereat I was somewhat cast down, but I 
put my trust in God ; and when the good King St. Louis 
heard of my distress he sent for me, and retained me 
for his service, allowing me, as a kind lord, 800 livres 
Tournois. Whereupon I gave thanks to God, for I had 
now more money than I had need of. 


60 


ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

As soon as the month of March was come, the King, 
the Queen, and their households went aboard their 
several ships. On the Friday before Whitsunday the 
King ordered that all should follow him on the morrow 
and make for Egypt ; and on the morrow every ship 
made sail, which was a fine thing to see ; for the whole 
sea, as far as the eye could reach, seemed to be covered 
with canvas, from the many sails that were spread to 
the wind, being reckoned at 1800 ships, great and small. 
On the Thursday after Whitsuntide the King arrived 
with his fleet at Damietta. 

On the shore we saw the whole force of the Sultan, 
fine men to look upon. The Sultan wore arms of 
burnished gold, so fine that when the sun shone on them 
he seemed a sun himself. The tumult and noise they 
made with their horns and drums was terrible to hear. 
The King and his barons agreed that he should land on 
the Friday before Trinity Sunday, and fight with the 
Saracens. On the Friday, then, we began to sail after 
the boat of the King’s great ship, and made for land ; 
but they cried out to us to wait until the banner of St. 
Denis should be there, which was going in front of the 
King in another boat. But I took no heed of them 
and landed over against a great battalion of Saracens 
and Turks, about six thousand in number. Forthwith, 
when they saw us ashore, they spurred their horses 
towards us ; but we struck our spears and shields into 
the sand with spear-points towards them, which when 
they perceived they quickly turned about and fled. 
On our left, the Count of Jaffa landed in most noble 
array; for his galley was all painted inside and out 
with shields of his arms, which were a cross patee gules 
on a field gold. And in the galley were full three 


THE CAPTURE OF DAMIETTA 61 

hundred seamen, each with a target of these arms, and 
on each target was a pennon with the same arms done 
in gold. On our right, the galley bearing the banner 
of St. Denis came ashore within a crossbow shot of us ; 
and when she touched land a Saracen rode against 
her company at great speed, whether because he could 



‘ When she touched land a Saracen rode against her company at 
great speed.’ 


not hold his horse, or thinking that his men would 
follow him ; but he was soon destroyed and cut to 
pieces. 

When the good King St. Louis heard that the banner 
of St. Denis was a-land, he quitted his ship, which was 
already close inshore, without waiting till he could be 
disembarked ; and in spite of the Pope’s Legate, who 
was with him, he leaped into the sea, which was up to 
his shoulders, and waded ashore with his shield around 



62 


ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

his neck, his helm on his head and his spear in his hand. 
When he came to his men and saw the Saracen army, 
he asked who they were ; and it was told him that they 
were Turks and Saracens. Thereupon, with his spear 
under his arm and his shield before him, he would run a 
course alone against them ; but those which were with 
him would not allow him to do this, and desired him 
to rest until his whole army should be come together 
and armed. 

Carrier pigeons were sent thrice to the Sultan of 
the Saracens to tell him of the coming of the King of 
France ; but no answer was returned, for the Sultan 
was sick. The Saracens thereupon abandoned the city 
of Damietta, believing him to be dead. When the 
King heard this news, he sent a knight to Damietta to 
know the truth of it ; who, when he returned to the 
King, said that the news was true, for he had entered 
into the houses and they were empty. Upon this the 
King had the Legate called, with all the prelates of 
the army, and ordered the Te Deum Laudamus to be 
sung ; after which the King and his army mounted and 
went to take up their quarters in Damietta. 

3. The Battle of Mansourah 

At the beginning of Advent, the King and his whole 

army began their march towards Cairo. The King 

determined to have a causeway made, to pass over the 
Nile to the Saracens ; and to guard those at work upon 
it he had two belfries or towers built, called 3 * * 6 cat-castles.’ 
These belfries had each two turrets in front and two sheds 
behind, to keep off the shots thrown by the Saracens’ 
engines, of which they had sixteen that did wonders. 


THE BATTLE OF MANSOURAH 63 

The King commanded eighteen engines to be built 
under the ordering of Jocelyn of Cornaut, and with these 
engines did each army play upon the other. 

One night the Turks brought forward an engine 
called by them ‘ The Stoner,’ a terrible one to do mischief, 
and they placed it over against the cat-castles, which 
Sir Walter de Cured and I were guarding by night. 
From this engine they flung such masses of Greek fire 
that it was the most horrible thing ever seen. When 
my companion, the good Sir Walter, saw this shower 
of fire, he cried out, ‘ Sirs, we are all lost without remedy : 
for if they set fire to our castles we must be burnt ; 
and if we quit our post, we are for ever dishonoured ; 
so that no one can save us but God. I advise, there- 
fore, that wherever they throw this fire, you all go 
down on your hands and knees and cry for mercy to 
our Lord, in whom alone is all power.’ As soon, there- 
fore, as the Turks threw the fire, we flung ourselves down 
as the wise man had advised ; and this time it fell 
between our two towers into a hole which our people 
had made, and it was put out by a man set ready there- 
for. 

This Greek fire was in fashion like to a large barrel, 
and its trail of fire was as long as a great spear ; it made 
a noise like thunder, and had the semblance of a dragon 
flying through the air. It gave so bright a light with 
its flame that we could see in our camp as clearly as 
in broad day. Thrice this night did they throw the 
fire from the Stoner, and four times from crossbows. 
Each time that our good King St. Louis heard them 
throwing the fire at us, he cast himself on the ground 
and cried with a loud voice to our Lord ; and believe me, 
his earnest prayers did us great service. At every time 


64 


ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

when the fire fell near us, he sent one of his knights to 
know how we were ; and if the fire had hurt us. We 
put out the fire with great labour and difficulty ; for 



St. Louis prays to avert the Greek fire from his Towers. 

the Saracens in the meantime shot so briskly from the 
opposite bank that we were covered with arrows and 
bolts. 

After some days both our castles were burnt, and the 
King had two new ones built with timber from the ships. 



THE BATTLE OF MANSOURAH 65 

But the Turks again brought up the Stoner against them 
and again burnt them with their Greek fire. The King 
and his barons then perceived that they could not 
throw a causeway over the river ; but Sir Humbert 
of Beaujeu, Constable of France, told the King how a 
Bedouin had said to him that if he would give him 
500 gold besants, he would show a safe ford, which 
might easily be crossed on horseback. 

It was determined by the King that the Duke of 
Burgundy should guard the army from the Saracens, 
while he with his three brothers (the Counts of Poitiers, 
Artois, and Anjou) should make trial of the Bedouin’s 
ford. When the appointed day came, which was 
Shrove Tuesday, we all mounted our horses, armed at 
all points, and followed the Bedouin to the ford. Before 
we set out, the King had ordered that the Templars 
should lead the van, and the Count of Artois should 
command the second division of the army ; but as soon 
as the Count of Artois had passed the ford with 
all his people, and saw the Saracens flying, they put 
spurs to their horses and galloped after them, whereat 
those in the van were much angered at the Count of 
Artois. But he could not make any answer, because 
of Sir Foucault of Le Merle, who was holding the bridle 
of his horse, and Sir Foucault, being a good knight but 
deaf, heard not a word of what the Templars were 
saying to the Count of Artois, but kept bawling out 
‘ Forward ! forward ! ’ 

When the Templars saw this they thought they 
would be dishonoured if they let the Count of Artois 
go before them, and they spurred on their horses, 
pursuing the Saracens through the town of Mansourah 
into the country towards Cairo ; but as they returned 


66 


ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

through the narrow streets the Turks shot at them 
a plenty of arrows, and there the Count of Artois, and 
the Lord Raoul of Coucy were slain, with full three 
hundred other knights. 

My knights and I pursued some Saracens through 
their camp ; but when they saw that we were cut off 
from our army they attacked us boldly, and slew Sir 
Hugh of Trichatel, and made prisoner Sir Raoul of 
Wanon, of our company, whom they had struck to the 
ground. But as they were dragging him away, my 
knights and I knew him and made haste to help and 
deliver him. While I was returning, the Turks bore 
me down with their spears, so that my horse fell on his 
knees and threw me to the ground over his head ; and 
they would have killed me but for Sir Arnaud de Com- 
menge, Viscount of Couzerans, who came most valiantly 
to my succour. And from the time that he gave me 
this aid, there was never a day of my life that I did 
not most truly love him. 

We went together towards an old ruined house, and 
as we were going another company of Turks came on 
to attack a company of ours hard by, and as they 
passed they struck me to the ground with my shield 
over my neck and rode over me thinking I was dead, 
as indeed I very nearly was. When they had passed, 
Sir Arnaud de Commenge, who had boldly fought with 
them, came back to me and raised me up, and we went 
to the walls of the ruined house. There also the Turks 
came to attack us, and some of them entered within 
the walls and were a long time fighting with us at spear’s 
length. And there Sir Hugh of Scots was grievously 
hurt with three great wounds in the face; also Sir 
Raoul and Sir Frederic of Loupey were sore wounded 


THE BATTLE OF MANSOURAH 67 

in their shoulders, so that the blood spouted out like to 
a tun of wine when it is tapped. Sir Erard of Syvery 
had so strong a sword-cut across his face that his nose 
hung down over his mouth. He said to me, 4 Sir, if 
you did not think it was done to abandon you and save 
myself, I would go to ask help for you from my Lord 
of Anjou, whom I see on the plain.’ I said to him, 
4 Sir Erard, it would be greatly to my pleasure and your 
honour, if you would go and seek aid to save our lives, 
for your own life also is in peril.’ And I said truly, for 
he afterwards died of that wound. So I quit hold of 
his bridle and he rode towards the Count of Anjou. 
And there was with the Count a great lord who would 
have held him back, of whom he took no heed but 
spurred towards us with his men ; and the Saracens 
saw them and left us. 

There I saw the King come up with his whole 
company, and with a great noise of trumpets, clarions 
and horns. He halted on a rising ground, for somewhat 
that he had to say, and be sure I never saw so goodly a 
man in arms. He was head and shoulders above any 
of his men, and he had a gilded helm on his head and 
a long sword in his hand. Soon after, he halted the 
best of his knights, and rushed to battle with the Turks. 
And you must know that in this fight were done the 
most noble deeds that were ever done in this voyage 
to the Holy Land ; for there was no use of bows or 
cross-bows, but the fighting was with blows on both 
sides by battle-axes, swords and butts of spears, all 
mixed together. 

I was soon mounted, and rode by the side of the 
King. Sir John of Valery, who was in attendance on 
him, advised him to make for the river-side on the 


68 


ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

right, that he might have support from the Duke of 
Burgundy, and likewise that his men might have 
water for their thirst, for the heat was great. As this 
was being done, Sir Humbert of Beaujeu came and 
entreated the King to go to the aid of his brother who 
was much pressed in Mansourah. The King replied, 

‘ Constable, go on, and I will follow you.’ I also said 
to the Constable that I would be his knight, and we all 
rode toward Mansourah. 

Presently came a mace-sergeant to the Constable 
and said how the King was in the midst of the Turks ; 
and there were between us and him a full thousand, 
and we were only six in all. So we turned to go round 
them by the other side, and as we came back down the 
stream we saw how the two armies met on the banks, 
with miserable fortune ; for part of our army thought 
to cross over to the Duke of Burgundy, but they 
could not, for the day was hot and their horses were 
worn out. And as we came down we saw the river 
covered with lances, pikes, and shields, and men and 
horses that were not able to save themselves from 
death. 

There then we six halted, to guard a small bridge 
hard by; and as for the King, you may believe me 
when I say that he did that day the most noble deeds 
that ever I saw in any battle. It was said how the 
army would have been all destroyed if he had not been 
there; for he forced himself wherever he saw his men 
in any distress, and gave such strokes with sword and 
battle-axe that it was a wonder to see. The Lord of 
Courtenay and Sir John of Saillenay told me that six 
Turks caught hold of the bridle of the King’s horse 
and were leading him away ; but the King fought with 


THE BATTLE OF MANSOURAH 69 



f King Louis fought with such valour that he alone delivered himself.’ 




70 ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

such valour that he alone delivered himself. Whereat 
many others, seeing how w r ell he defended himself, 
took courage and left crossing the river and made haste 
to help the King. 

In front of us, beside our bridge, were two of the 
King’s serjeants, William of Bron and John of Gamaches, 
against whom the Turks brought a rabble of peasants 
who pelted them with clods and stones. And at last 
they brought one who thrice flung Greek fire at them 
and set the tabard of William of Bron afire. We 
also were covered with the stones and arrows which 
they threw at the serjeants. But, by good fortune, I 
found a Saracen jibbah of coarse cloth, and turned it 
inside out and made a sort of shield, which served me 
well ; for I was only wounded in five places, whereas 
my horse was hurt in fifteen. Soon after, one of my men 
from Joinville brought me a banner with my arms and 
a sharp iron head to it ; and when we saw these peasants 
pressing on the serjeants, we made a charge and they 
fled. Then the good Count of Soissons began to jest 
with me, and said, ‘ Seneschal, this rabble may bawl 
and bray, but you and I shall yet talk of this day’s 
adventures in our ladies’ chambers.’ 

Towards evening the Constable brought up the 
King’s crossbows on foot ; and they covered us while 
we dismounted. Then the Saracens fled and left us in 
peace. The Constable told me we had done well in 
guarding the bridge ; and he bade me go to the King, 
and not quit him till he should be dismounted and in 
his pavilion. So I went, and the King then rode towards 
his pavilion and took off his helm, and I gave him my 
iron cap that he might have more air. 

As we rode thus together, Father Henry, Prior of 


GREAT IN DEFEAT 71 

Ronnay, came to the King and kissed his hand in the 
mail, and asked if he had any news of his brother, the 
Count of Artois. ‘ Ay,’ said the King, 4 1 have heard 
all ’ ; which was to say that he knew well he was now 
in Paradise. The Prior, thinking to comfort him, said : 
4 Sire, no King of France has ever gained such honour 
as you, for with great courage have you and your army 
crossed over a perilous river to fight your enemies, and 
you have so well done that you have turned them to 
flight and won the field of them, together with their 
engines wherewith they had so marvellously troubled 
you, and in the end you have taken their quarters and 
shall yourself lie in them to-night.’ 

The good King replied that God should be adored 
for all that He had granted him ; and then big tears 
began to fall down his cheeks, which many great ones 
round him perceived, and were weighed upon with 
anguish and compassion, seeing him so weep and praise 
the name of God, who had enabled him to gain the 
victory. 

4. Great in Defeat 

After this battle on Shrove Tuesday, and another 
on the first Friday in Lent, great ill-fortune befell our 
army. You must know that all Lent we ate no fish 
but mud-eels, which are gluttonous fish and feed on 
dead bodies. From this cause and from the bad air 
of the country, where it scarcely ever rains a drop, the 
whole army was infected with a sore sickness, which 
dried up the flesh on our legs to the bone, and our skins 
became tanned black, like an old book that has long 
lain behind a chest. 

The better to cure us, the Turks, a fortnight after. 


72 ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

tried to starve us, as I shall tell you. They had drawn 
their galleys over land and launched them again below 
our army, so that those who had gone to Damietta for 
provision never returned ; for the Turks captured four 
score of ours and killed their crews. When the King 
and his barons saw this, they advised to march and join 
the Duke of Burgundy on the other side of the river. 
The King, however, and his division never moved until 
the baggage had crossed ; and then we all passed after 
the King, except Sir Walter of Chatillon, who com- 
manded the rear-guard. I heard from a knight that 
he had seen Sir Walter post himself with his drawn 
sword in a street at Casel, and whenever any Turks 
entered that street he attacked and drove them before 
him with hard blows, and they, as they fled, shot arrows 
at him with which he was covered. And ever, when 
he had routed them, he picked the arrows out of his 
body, and did on again his coat of mail. He was a 
long time thus ; and the knight saw him rise in his 
stirrups and wave his sword and cry, ‘ Ha ! Chatillon ! 
Knights ! Where are my good knights ? ’ but not one 
was with him. And afterwards I met with a knight 
called Sir John of Frumons, who told me that as they 
were carrying him away prisoner he saw a Turk on the 
horse of Sir Walter of Chatillon, whose tail and crupper 
were covered with blood. 

There was also a most valiant man in our army, 
whose name was Lord James du Chatel, Bishop of 
Soissons. When he saw that we were going towards 
Damietta, and that everyone was eager to go home to 
France, he chose rather to be with God than to return 
to the land where he was born. So he made a charge 
against the Turks, as if he meant to fight with their 


GREAT IN DEFEAT 73 

whole army alone ; and they in no long time sent him 
to God, among the company of martyrs. 

To return to my story : the King had the same 
sickness as the rest of his army, with a dysentery, which 
if he had pleased he might have prevented, by living 
aboard his great ship ; but he said he would rather die 
than leave his people. And true it is that there were 
parleyings respecting a peace ; and it was agreed that 
the King should give back Damietta to the Sultan, 
and the Sultan should render up to the King the realm 
of Jerusalem. But the Sultan demanded security, and 
refused to accept any other hostage but the King him- 
self : to which the good knight, Sir Geoffrey of Sergines, 
replied that the Turks should never have the King, 
and that he would rather we should all be slain than 
that it should be said that we had given our King in 
pawn ; and thus the matter remained. 

Then Sir Geoffrey of Sergines brought the King to 
the village of Casel, and when they had dismounted he 
laid the King in the lap of a woman from Paris ; for he 
thought that every moment must be his last, and had 
no hope that he could pass that day without dying. 
Then came Sir Philip of Montfort, and the King en- 
treated him to go again to the Saracens, and declared 
that he would abide by all such terms as they should 
agree upon. And when Sir Philip came to the Saracens 
they took their turbans from their heads and he gave 
them a ring from his finger, as a pledge that they should 
keep truce and accept the terms as offered. 

But, even at this moment, a terrible ill-fortune befell 
us ; for a traitor serjeant named Marcel set up a loud 
shout to our people and said, 4 Sir Knights, surrender 
yourselves ! The King orders you by me so to do, and 


74 ST. LOUIS OF FRANCE 

not to cause him to be slain.’ Then all thought that 
the King had in truth sent such orders, and they gave 
up their arms to the Saracens. 

In the end, the Sultan’s Council made a new agree- 
ment and took oath to keep it ; which being done, the 
King promised cheerfully to pay for the ransom of 
his army 500,000 livres, and for his own ransom to 
give up Damietta to the Sultan. And when the Sultan 
heard of it, he said : 6 By my faith, the Frenchman is 
generous and liberal, for he does not stoop to bargain 
about even so great a sum of money, but has agreed 
quickly to the first demand. Go and tell him from me 
that I make him a gift of 100,000 livres, so that he has 
only 400,000 to pay.’ And the King was to swear to 
give into their hands 200,000 livres before he quitted 
the river, and the other 200,000 he should pay in Acre. 
When the first payment was made, Sir Philip of Montfort 
told the King that the Saracens had miscounted one 
scale weight, whereby they had come short of 10,000 
livres. The King was greatly enraged thereat, and 
commanded Sir Philip, on the faith he owed him as his 
liege man, to pay these 10,000 livres, if they had in 
fact not been paid. And he said that he would never 
depart until the uttermost penny was paid. 

In the year after this, the King was all Lent making 
ready his fleet to return to France ; and on the Eve 
of St. Mark the King and Queen went on board their 
ship, and put to sea with a fair wind. The King told 
me that he was born on St. Mark’s Day ; and I replied 
that he might well say that he had been born again on 
St. Mark’s Day, in that he was thus escaping from so 
pestilent a land, wherein he had so long remained. 

The King landed at Hyeres, and came thence to the 


GREAT IN DEFEAT 75 

city of Aix in Provence. He passed the Rhone at 
Beaucaire ; and when the King was in his own realm 
I took my leave of him, and went to my niece, the 
Dauphiness of Vienne, and thence to my uncle the 
Count of Chalons, and to the Count of Burgundy his 
son ; and thence I came to Joinville. 


ROBIN HOOD 
1. The Greenwood Laws 

To all gentlemen that are of free-born blood I tell 
this tale : namely of Robin Hood, which Robin was born 
at Loxley, a good yeoman of England, but by reason 
of many wrongs and oppressions was at the Bat'Ll of 
Evesham found in arms against King Henry the Third ; 
and being outlawed therefor he kept first the forest of 
Pyperode in Feekenham and afterward the forest of 
Sherwood in Nottinghamshire and the forest of Barnes- 
dale in Yorkshire ; wherein he lived with his men a 
merry life in the greenwood, in despite of the said King 
and of Prince Edward his son, taking for his victual the 
King’s deer and for his purse the moneys of the proud, 
and succouring therewith the poor true men ; for while 
he walked on ground he was ever a gentle outlaw and 
a courteous. Hearken then how Robin stood on a day 
in Barnesdale, leaning against a tree, and by him stood 
three of his men, Little John and Scathelock and Much 
the miller’s son, and it drew toward dinner-time. Then 
said Little John, 6 Master, since we must spread our 
board, tell us where to go and how to deal ; what to 
take and what to leave, whom to rob and whom to beat 
and whom to let be.’ Now Robin loved our dear Lady 
above all ; therefore he said, ‘ Look ye first that ye 
do no harm to any company where there is a woman 

76 


THE GREENWOOD LAWS 77 

therein ; and after that look ye do no man harm that 
tilleth with plough ; no more shall ye harm no good 
yeoman, nor knight nor squire that will be a good fellow. 
But ye shall beat and bind these bishops and archbishops 
and the like, and especially forget not the High Sheriff 
of Nottingham. And until I have taken some proud 
baron that may pay for the best, I care not to dine.’ 

6 This word shall be kept,’ said Little John, 4 but 
the day grows late ; God send us a guest soon, that we 
may dine.’ 4 Take your good bow then,’ said Robin 
Hood, 4 and Much and Scathelock with you, and go up 
to Watling Street and look for any guest that may 
chance that way — be he baron, abbot or knight, bring 
him here and he shall dine with me.’ 

Then they went up to Watling Street all three, and 
saw no man ; but, as they looked, a knight came riding 
by a narrow lane. He was no proud one, but dreary 
to look upon ; he had but one foot in stirrup, his hood 
hung over his eyes, his array was poor — no sorrier man 
ever rode on a summer’s day. Little John met him 
full courteously, 4 Welcome, gentle knight, welcome to 
greenwood ; my master has been awaiting you fasting 
these three hours.’ 4 Who is your master ? ’ said the 
knight. Little John said, 4 Robin Hood.’ 6 He is a 
good yeoman,’ said the knight, 4 1 have heard much 
good of him. I will come with you, though my purpose 
was to have dined to-day elsewhere.’ And as they went 
the gentle knight was full of care, and tears fell from 
his eyes. 

So they brought him to the door of their lodge. 
4 Welcome, Sir Knight,’ said Robin, and he doffed his 
hood courteously. 4 Welcome, for I have awaited you 
fasting, these three hours.’ Then said the knight* 


irju i . i'i y ■ 


78 


ROBIN HOOD 



Little John with Much and Scathelock invite the gentle and sad knight to dine with Robin Hood. 





THE GREENWOOD LAWS 79 

4 God save you, good Robin, and all your fair fellow- 
ship ! 5 and they washed together and wiped, and set 
to their dinner. Bread and wine they had, and deer’s 
tripe, and swans and pheasants and wild fowl. 6 Eat 
heartily, Sir Knight,’ said Robin. 4 I thank you, sir,’ 
said he, 4 I have not had such a dinner these three 
weeks ; if I come again this way, Robin, I will make 
you as good a dinner as you have made me.’ 4 I thank 
you,’ said Robin, 4 I was never so hungry yet as to beg 
my dinner of another man. But tell me — before you 
go — was it ever the manner that a yeoman should pay 
for a knight ? ’ 

4 It shames me,’ said the knight, 4 but I have naught 
in my coffers that I can pay.’ 4 Tell me truth,’ said 
Robin, 4 so help you God.’ 4 So help me God, I have 
but ten shillings.’ 4 If you have no more,’ said Robin, 
4 1 will not take a penny of you ; nay, if you need more, 
more I will lend you.’ Then he said to Little John, 4 Go 
look now, Little John, and tell me the truth ; if there 
be no more than ten shillings, I will take not a penny.’ 

Little John spread out his mantle on the ground 
and turned over the knight’s coffer ; there he found 
but ten shillings. He let it lie and came to his master. 
4 What tidings, Little John ? ’ 4 Sir, the knight is true 

enough.’ 4 Then fill of the best wine,’ said Robin, 
4 the knight shall begin.’ And to the knight he said, 
4 Tell me one word and I will keep your counsel. I guess 
you were made a knight by force, or else you were yeoman 
born, or perchance you have been thriftless or quarrel- 
some or an evil liver, wasting your substance.’ 4 1 
am none of those,’ said the knight, 4 by Him that made 
me ; my ancestors have been knights this hundred years. 
It happens often, Robin, that a man may be unlucky ; 


80 


ROBIN HOOD 


but God may amend all. Within two years past, as all 
my neighbours well know, I had the spending of full 
four hundred pound of good money. Now, as God will 
have it, I have nothing left but my wife and my 
children.’ 

6 In what manner,’ then said Robin, ‘ have you lost 
your wealth ? ’ 4 By my great folly,’ he said, 6 and my 

kindness. I had a son, Robin, that should have been 
my heir ; he was twenty years of age and a fair j ouster 
in field. But he slew a knight of Lancashire, and a 
squire too ; and to save him from forfeiture all that I 
had must be set and sold. My lands are given in pledge 
until a certain day, to a rich Abbot hereby of St. Mary’s 
Abbey.’ 

4 What is the sum ? ’ said Robin Hood, ' tell me the 
truth of it.’ 4 Sir,’ he said, 4 it is four hundred pound ; 
the Abbot lent it me.’ 4 If you lose your land,’ said 
Robin Hood, 4 what will become of you ? ’ 4 1 must 

make ready and get me gone over the salt sea, to the 
land where Christ lived and died on Mount Calvary. 
There is no help for it ; farewell, my friend, and good 
luck to you.’ With that tears fell from his eyes, and 
he would have gone his way. 4 Farewell, friends,’ he 
said, 4 and good luck to you ; I am sorry that I have 
no more to give you.’ 

4 Where are your friends ? ’ said Robin Hood, 4 Sir, 
no one will know me now. When I was rich enough 
at home they made great boast of their friendship ; 
now they run away from me, and take no more heed 
of me than if they had never seen me.’ Then Little 
John, Much, and Scathelock all fell to weeping for 
pity ; but Robin said, 4 Fill of the best wine, for here 
is no hard matter. Have you no friends that will be 


THE GREENWOOD LAWS 81 

your sureties ? * Then said the knight, 4 I have none, 
but Him that died on tree.’ 4 Jest not,’ said Robin, 
‘ for I will have none of it. Think you I would 
take God to surety, or Peter or Paul, or John ? Nay, 
find me some other surety, or you get no money of 
me.’ 

4 1 have none other,’ said the knight, 4 unless it be 
our dear Lady ; and till this day she has never failed 
me.’ Then said Robin, 4 Dear God, though I searched 
England through, I could never find a better surety for 
my money. Come now, Little John, go to my treasury 
and bring me four hundred pound, and see that it is 
well told.’ So Little John went with Scathelock, and 
told out eight and twenty score for four hundred pound. 
4 Call you that well told ? ’ said Much. But Little 
J ohn answered him, 4 What is troubling you ? This is 
alms to help a gentle knight that is fallen in poverty.’ 
Then he said to Robin, 4 Master, his clothing is full 
thin. You must give the knight a livery, for you have 
scarlet cloth and green in plenty ; there is no merchant 
so rich in merry England, I dare swear.’ 

Then said Robin, 4 Take him three yards of each 
colour, §md see that it is good measure.’ Aid Little 
John took his bow for measure, and at every handful 
that he took he leaped over three feet. 4 What devil- 
kin’s draper do you think you are ? ’ said Much ; but 
Scathelock laughed and said, 4 He measures right. 
He may well give good measure, for it cost him little 
enough.’ 

4 Master,’ then said Little John, 4 you must give the 
knight a horse, to lead home all this.’ 4 Give him a 
grey courser,’ said Robin, 4 and a new saddle ; he is 
Our Lady’s messenger.’ 4 Give him a good palfrey too,' 

a 


82 ROBIN HOOD 

said Much. 6 And a pair of boots,’ said Scathelock. 
‘ What will you give him, Little John ? ’ 4 Sir, a pair 
of gilt spurs ; and God bring him out of sorrow.’ Then 
said the knight, ‘ Sir, when shall my day be ? ’ 6 This 

day twelvemonth,’ said Robin, 4 under this greenwood 
tree ; and since it were great shame that a knight 
should ride alone without squire or yeoman or page, 
I shall lend you Little John, my man ; if you should 
have great need, he may stand you in yeoman’s stead.’ 

2. Abbots and the Like 

The knight went on his way. 4 This is a good game,’ 
he said to himself, and when he looked back on Barnes- 
dale and thought of Robin Hood and Scathelock, Much 
and Little John, he blessed them for the best company 
he was ever in. Then he said to Little John, 4 To- 
morrow I must go to York, to St. Mary’s Abbey, and 
pay the Abbot his four hundred pound ; if I am not 
there by to-night my land is lost for good.’ 

Next morning the Abbot said to his convent : 4 This 
day, twelve months ago, a knight came and borrowed 
four hundred pound of us ; unless he comes with it 
this very day he will forfeit his heritage.’ But the 
Prior said : 4 It is full early ; the day is not yet far gone. 
I had rather pay a hundred pound than see this done. 
Maybe the knight is far beyond sea, suffering hunger 
and cold and sorry nights ; but his right is his in 
England, and it were great pity so to take his land. 
If you are so light of conscience, you will do him great 
wrong.’ 4 By God and St. Richard ! ’ said the Abbot, 

9 you are always plucking my beard ! ’ and with that 
broke in a fat-headed monk that was High Cellarer. 

‘ The knight,’ he said, 4 is dead or hanged, be sure of 


ABBOTS AND THE LIKE 83 

it ; * and we shall have the spending of his four hundred 
pound a year.’ 

Then the Abbot and the Cellarer started forth into 
the city, to the High Justice, and bought him over to 
help them ; and the High Justice and others took in 
hand all the matter of the knight’s debt, to the intent 
to do him shame and wrong. The Abbot and his crew 
were right hard upon the knight. ‘ If he come not 
this very day,’ they said, ‘ he shall lose his heritage.’ 

‘ He will not come now,’ said the Justice, 6 1 dare well 
answer for that.’ But before the day was out, the 
knight came, in a sorry hour for them all. 

Now, as they came, the knight and Little John had 
put off their good clothing and put on old things such 
as men wear who have come from sea. And when they 
had so changed their dress they came to the gates of 
the Abbey, and the great porter was there himself, and 
he knew the knight when he saw him. 6 Welcome, Sir 
Knight,’ he said, ‘ my Lord Abbot is at meat,’ and then 
he grinned and said, ‘ He has a many gentle men to 
dinner to-day, all in honour of you.’ But when he 
saw the knight’s horses he was astonished and swore 
a great oath. ‘ By God, here be the best conditioned 
horses that ever I saw. Take them into the stable,’ 
he said, 6 to rest and feed.’ But the knight said, 6 Nay 1 
they shall come into no stable of yours.’ 

In the Abbot’s hall the great lords were sitting at 
meat ; the knight came in and saluted them all. Then 
he knelt humbly before the Abbot and said, ‘ Sir Abbot, 
I am come to keep my day.’ The Abbot had no courtesy 
for him ; the first word that he spoke was, ‘ Have you 
brought me my money ? ’ ‘ Alack is me ! ’ said the 

knight, ‘ not one penny of it.’ ‘ You are a cursed 


84 ROBIN HOOD 

sort of debtor,’ said the Abbot. ‘ Sir Justice, drink 
to me ! ’ Then he said again to the knight, ‘ What are 
you doing here, if you have not brought your money ? ’ 
4 I came,’ said the knight, 4 to pray you for a longer 
day.’ ‘ Nay ! ’ said the Justice, 4 you have broken your 
day, you get no land now.’ 6 Good Sir Justice,’ said 
the knight, 4 be my friend, and help me against my 
enemies.’ ‘ I am bound to my Lord Abbot,’ said the 
Justice, 4 both by reason of his cloth and of his fee.’ 
The knight turned him to the Sheriff, 4 Now, good Sir 
Sheriff, be my friend,’ he said. ‘Not I,’ said the 
Sheriff. Then the knight knelt again to the Abbot 
and prayed him : ‘ Of your courtesy, good Sir Abbot, 
be my friend, and keep my lands in your hand until I 
have made satisfaction for my debt ; and I will be your 
servant and serve you truly till you have four hundred 
pounds of me, good money.’ But the Abbot swore a 
great oath, 4 Get your lands where you may ; you will 
get none of me.’ 

Then the knight stood up. 4 Sir Abbot ! ’ he said, 
4 if I get not my land again, it shall be bought full 
dearly ! God help you ! you thought me penniless ; 
but what if I were but minded to try a friend, before 
I had need of him ? ’ Thereat the Abbot began to 
doubt, and cried out villainously against him. ‘ Out ! ’ 
he said, 4 you false knight, get you gone quickly from 
my hall ! ’ ‘You lie, Abbot, in your hall,’ said the 
gentle knight. ‘ By God that made us both, I was 
never a false knight. I have been many a time in 
jousts and tournaments, and gone as far forward in 
fight as any that ever I saw. You have no courtesy, 
to let a knight kneel to you so long 1 ’ 

Now the Justice saw how the matter was turning, 


85 


ABBOTS AND THE LIKE 

and he said to the Abbot, 4 How much more will you 
give the knight, to make you a release ? For else, I 
tell you surely, you will never hold your land in quiet 
possession.’ 4 A hundred pound,’ said the Abbot. The 
Justice said, * Give him two.’ 4 Nay,’ said the knight, 
‘ you get not my land so ; though you should offer a 
thousand pound more, you would be none the nearer. 
No Abbot, Justice, or friar shall ever be my heir ! ’ 

With that he strode to a table and shook out of a 
bag four hundred pound, even money. 4 Take here 
your gold, Sir Abbot, that you lent me ; if you had been 
courteous when I came here, I would have made it 
worth your while.’ 

The Abbot sat still. He had had enough of his royal 
dinner ; his eyes were fixed and his head drooped on 
his breast. 6 Sir Justice,’ he said, 4 give me my gold 
again that I gave you for your fee.’ But the Justice 
said, 4 Not I, by God, not a penny ! ’ Then the knight 
said, 4 Sir Abbot, and you men of law, I have kept my 
day ; now, for all that you can say I shall have my 
land again.’ And out of the door he went, free of all 
his care. 

Then he put on his good clothing again, and went 
home singing merrily. At his own gate, in Uttersdale, 
his lady met him. 4 Welcome, my lord,’ she said. 
4 Is all your land lost ? ’ 4 Be merry, dame,’ said the 

knight, 4 and bless Robin Hood ; but for his kindness, 
we had been beggars by now. The Abbot and I are 
quits — he has his money — the good yeoman lent it 
me, as I came by the way.’ 

The knight then lived at home till he had got together 
four hundred pound ; also he bought a hundred bows, 
and a hundred sheaf of arrows with peacock feathers ; 


86 ROBIN HOOD 

and purveyed him a hundred men, all in his livery of 
white and red, and he took lance in hand and rode 
away merrily into Barnesdale, to pay his debt to Robin 
Hood. 

Now, as he went, he came to a bridge, where were 
men wrestling a match, all the best yeomen of the 
West Country. And it was a full fair game with great 
prizes — a white bull, a horse saddled and bridled, a 
pair of gloves, a ring of red gold, and a pipe of wine. 
And there was a yeoman there that was the best ; but 
since he was far from home, and a stranger, he was 
like to have been slain. The knight had pity of him, 
and swore that for love of Robin Hood he would see 
that the yeoman should have no harm. He pressed 
into the place, and his hundred men followed him, with 
bows bent and arrows on string, to shame that company ; 
and the countrymen made room for him, to hear what 
he would say. Then he took the yeoman by the hand 
and gave him fair play for his game ; and when he had 
won he gave him five marks for his wine, and bade them 
broach it there where it stood, that all might drink. 

And while the gentle knight thus tarried till the 
wrestling was over, so long in the greenwood Robin 
waited fasting, three hours past noon. 

3. The Sheriff of Nottingham 

Now turn we back a little, to hear good mirth of 
Little John, that had been the knight’s man this year 
past. Upon a feast day, when the young men had 
made a match to shoot, Little John fetched his bow and 
said that he would meet them. And so he did, and he 
shot three times, and every time he cleft the wand. 
Now the proud Sheriff of Nottingham came up and 


THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM 87 

stood by the marks, and he swore a full great oath. 
4 This man is the best archer that ever I saw yet.’ 
Then he said to Little John, 4 Tell me now, my brave 
young man, what is your name, where were you born, 
and where do you live ? * 

4 I am my mother’s own son,’ said Little John, 6 and 
I was born in Holderness ; when I am at home men call 
me Reynold Greenleaf.’ Then said the Sheriff : 6 Reynold 
Greenleaf, will you take service with me ? and I will 
giye you for your wages twenty mark by the year.’ 
‘ I have a master already,’ said Little John, 4 he is a 
courteous knight, and it were better if you could get 
leave of him.’ So the Sheriff got Little John of the 
knight for twelve months, and gave him a good strong 
horse. 

Now was Little John with the Sheriff, who thought 
he would serve him well ; but Little John thought 
otherwise. 4 By my loyalty,’ said he, ‘ I shall be the 
worst servant to him that he ever had yet.’ Then it 
befell on a day when the Sheriff was gone hunting, 
that Little John lay in bed at home forgotten. And 
when it was noon and he was still fasting, he said to 
the steward, 6 1 pray you, good Sir Steward, give me 
to dine, for I am too long fasting.’ 4 Till my lord come 
home,’ said the steward, 4 you will get nothing to eat 
or drink.’ 4 1 vow,’ said Little John, 4 1 would sooner 
crack your crown than wait so long.’ The butler also 
was uncourteous in like manner ; he went to the buttery 
and shut the door fast. But Little John gave him such 
a rap that he nearly broke his back — he would go the 
worse for that rap though he lived a hundred years 
after it. Then Little John burst the door with his foot ; 
it went up well and fine, and he gave out good commons 


88 ROBIN HOOD 

of wine and ale. 4 Since you will not give me to dine,’ 
he said, 4 I will give you to drink ; and you shall 
remember me, though you live a hundred year.’ So he 
ate and drank as he would. 

Now the Sheriff had in his kitchen a cook, a stout 
man and bold. ‘ I vow,’ said this cook, 4 you are a 
shrewd servant to live in a household, and come and ask 
to dine in this fashion.’ And he lent Little John three 
good blows. 4 1 vow,’ said Little John, 4 1 like these 
blows ; you are a good man and a hardy, and I will 
make better trial of you before I leave.’ Then he drew 
his sword, and the cook took another in his hand. 
They had no thought of giving way, but stood stiffly 
up one to the other, and there they fought hard together 
the best part of an hour without either taking any 
harm. 4 1 vow,’ said Little John, 4 by my true loyalty, 
you are one of the best swordsmen that I ever saw yet. 
If you could shoot as well with a bow you should go to 
greenwood with me, and twice a year Robin Hood 
would give you new clothing, and every year twenty 
mark to your wages.’ 4 Put up your sword,’ said the 
cook, 4 we will be fellows.’ 

Then he fetched for Little John doe venison and good 
bread and wine, and they ate and drank together. 
And when they had well drunken, they plighted troth 
with each other that they would be with Robin Hood 
that very day by night-time. Then they went as fast 
as they could go to the Sheriff’s treasure-house. The 
locks were of good steel, but they broke them every one. 
They took away the silver — pieces, bowls, spoons— they 
forgot none of it; nor the good coin, three hundred 
pound and more, and straight they took it all to Robin 
Hood, under the greenwood tree. 


THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM 89 

* God save you, my dear master,’ said Little John. 
And Robin said to Little John, 4 Welcome to you, Little 
John, and welcome to that good yeoman that you 
bring with you ; and now tell me, what tidings from 
Nottingham ? ’ Then said Little John, 4 The proud 
Sheriff greets you well, and sends you here by me his 
cook, and his silver vessels, and three hundred pound 
of money.’ ‘ I vow to God,’ said Robin, 6 and to the 
Trinity, it was never by his good will that all this came 
to my hands ! ’ 

Then Little John bethought him of a shrewd wile. 
He left Robin there and the cook, and ran off through 
the forest ; five mile he ran seeking, and he happened 
on what he sought. He met the proud Sheriff, hunting 
with hound and horn. He came up courteously and 
kneeled before him, saying, 4 God save you, my dear 
master.’ Then the Sheriff asked him, ‘ Reynold Green- 
leaf, where have you been now ? ’ ‘I have been in this 
forest,’ said Little John, ‘ and there I saw a fair sight, 
one of the fairest sights that I ever saw yet. Yonder 
I saw a right royal hart ; his colour is green and in his 
company are seven score of deer in a herd ; on his 
tines are sixty points and more, so sharp that I durst 
not shoot for fear they should slay me.’ 4 1 vow,’ 
said the Sheriff, ‘ I would fain see that sight.’ 4 Make 
you ready, then, my dear master,’ said Little John, 
4 and go thitherward with me.’ 

So the Sheriff rode thitherward, and Little John, that 
was right smart of foot, ran with him, and presently 
they came where Robin was. Then said Little John 
to the Sheriff, 4 Here is the master hart.’ The Sheriff 
stood stock-still ; he was a sorry man. 4 Woe worth 
you, Reynold Greenleaf,’ he said, "you have betrayed 


90 ROBIN HOOD 

me.’ * I vow,’ said Little John, 4 it is you, master, that 
are to blame ; when I was in your house at home I was 
mis-served of my dinner.’ 

Then Robin took the Sheriff and bade him to 
supper, and soon they were set at table and served with 
bright silver ; and when the Sheriff saw his own silver, 
he could not eat for sorrow. But Robin said to him, 
6 Make good cheer, Sheriff, for charity’s sake ! and 
for the love of Little John, your life is granted you.’ 

When they had well supped, the day was all gone. 
Then Robin called Little John and bade him pull off 
his hose and his shoes, his kirtle and his short cloak 
that was finely furred, and take only a green mantle, 
to wrap himself in for the night. And he commanded 
his sturdy young men that they also should lie under the 
greenwood tree, to sleep in that same sort, and so that 
the Sheriff might see them. And the Sheriff himself 
lay all night in his breeches and shirt, there in the 
greenwood ; no wonder it was that his sides ached. 
But Robin Hood made jest at him, saying anon, 4 Make 
glad cheer, Sheriff, for charity’s sake ! for this is our 
order of life, you know, under the greenwood tree ! ’ 
4 This is a harder order,’ said the Sheriff, 4 than any 
friar or hermit keeps ; I would not dwell long here for 
all the gold in merry England.’ 4 You shall dwell here 
with me,’ said Robin, 4 these twelve months to come ; 
I will teach you, proud Sheriff, to be an outlaw.’ 

Then said the Sheriff, 4 Rather than lie here another 
night, I pray you, Robin, smite off my head to-morrow 
morning, and I will forgive you.’ Then he said again, 
4 For saint charity, let me go, and I will be the best 
friend that you ever had.’ 4 Then you shall swear me 
an oath,’ said Robin, 4 on my bright sword, that you 


ROBIN REPAID 91 

will never plot evil against me by land or by water ; 
and if you find any of my men, by day or by night, 
upon your oath you shall help them in any way you 
can.’ 

The Sheriff swore his oath, and began to take his 
way home. He was fed full of the greenwood, as full 
as ever a rose-hip was filled with stone. 

4. Robin Repaid 

The Sheriff went home to Nottingham. He was 
right glad to be gone ; and Robin and his merry men 
went back to the greenwood. Then, on a day, Little 
John said, ‘ Go we to dinner,’ for it was time ; but 
Robin said, ‘ Nay ! for I fear lest Our Lady be wroth 
with me, seeing that she hath not sent me yet my 
money.’ 6 Have no doubt, master,’ said Little John, 
6 the sun is not yet at rest ; I dare say and swear that 
the knight is true.’ ‘ Then take your bow in hand,’ 
said Robin, ‘ and Much with you, and William Scathe- 
lock, and leave me here alone ; and go ye up to Watling 
Street and look if by chance ye may meet with some 
uncouth guest. Whether he be a messenger, or one 
that can make mirth, if he be a poor man he shall share 
of what I have.’ 

So Little John started forth, half in trouble and 
grief, and he girt him with a good sword, and those 
three yeomen went up to Watling Street and looked 
east and west ; but they could see no man. But, as 
they looked, they were ware of a Black Monk, which 
came by the highway upon a good palfrey. Then Little 
John began to say to Much, 4 1 dare well wager my life 
that monk hath brought our money. Make glad cheer, 
then, and dress your good yew bows ; see that your 


92 


ROBIN HOOD 


hearts are steady and sure, and your strings trusty and 
true. This monk hath seven pack-horses and two and 
fifty men ; no bishop in the land rides more royally. 
Brethren, we are no more than three ; but unless we 
bring them to dinner, we dare not face our master. 
Bend your bows, make them all stand ; I hold the fore- 
most monk of them in my hand, for life or death.’ 
Then he called to the Black Monk. ‘ Bide where you 
are, churl monk ! Go no further ; if you do, your death 
is in my hand ! Evil thrift upon your head and your 
hat and your hat -band ! You have angered our master, 
you have kept him so long fasting.’ ‘ Who is your 
master ? ’ said the monk. ‘ Robin Hood,’ said Little 
John. ‘ I never heard good of him,’ said the monk, 

‘ he is a strong thief. ’ ‘You lie,’ said Little John, ‘ and 
you shall rue it, he is a yeoman of the forest, and he has 
bidden you to dine by me.’ 

Much was ready with a blunt arrow on string ; 
quickly he shot the monk fair in the breast and felled 
him to the ground. Of all his two and fifty yeomen 
there stayed not one by him, save a little page and a 
groom that led the pack-horses. Then Little John and 
Much and Scathelock brought the Black Monk, whether 
he would or no, to the lodge-door in the greenwood, 
and bade him, despite his teeth, to speak with Robin 
Hood. 

When Robin saw the monk, he put down his hood. 
The monk was not so courteous, he let his hood be. 

‘ He is a churl,’ said Little John wrathfully. ‘ No 
matter,’ said Robin, ‘ there can be no courtesy in such. 
How many men had this monk, Little John ? ’ ‘ Fifty 

and two when we met them,’ said Little John, ‘ but 
many of them are fled.’ ‘ Let blow a horn,’ said Robin 


ROBIN REPAID 93 

Hood, ‘ that our fellowship may know where we be.? 
They blew, and seven score of sturdy yeomen came 
running up ; each of them had a good mantle of scarlet 
and striped cloth, and they all came to Robin to hear 
what he would say to them. 

Then they made the Black Monk wash and wipe, 
and sit down to dinner ; and Robin Hood and Little 
J ohn both served him together. ‘ Eat heartily, 
monk,* said Robin. 4 I thank you much, sir,’ he said. 
Then said Robin, 4 Where is your Abbey, when you are 
at home, and who is your patron saint ? ’ 6 St. Mary’s 

Abbey,’ said the monk, 4 but I am not master there.’ 
4 What is your office ? ’ asked Robin. 4 Sir, I am High 
Cellarer.’ 6 You are the more welcome, so may I thrive,’ 
said Robin. 4 Fill of the best wine, Little John, this 
monk shall drink to me.’ Then Robin said again, 4 But 
I have had great marvel all this long day ; I dread lest 
Our Lady be wroth with me, for she hath not sent me 
my money.’ 4 Have no doubt, master,’ said Little 
John, 4 you need have none. I dare well swear this 
monk hath brought it, for he is of her own Abbey.’ 
4 Ay ! ’ said Robin, 4 and she was surety between a 
knight and me, for a little money that I lent him here 
under the greenwood. Therefore, monk, I pray you let 
me see if you have brought that money, and if instead 
you have need of me, I will help you right soon.’ 

The monk swore with sorry cheer. 4 1 never heard 
tell a word of this suretyhood.’ 4 Monk,’ said Robin, 
‘ you are to blame ; you told me with your own tongue 
that you are Our Lady’s servant, and you are made 
her messenger to pay me my money ; I thank you that 
you come true to your day. What is in your coffers ? 
tell me truth, monk.’ 4 Sir,’ said he, 4 twenty mark, 


94 ROBIN HOOD 

so may I thrive.’ 4 If I find more,’ said Robin, 4 you 
shall forfeit it. Look now, Little John, and tell me 
truth ; if there be no more,, no penny will I take.’ 

Little John spread his mantle, as he had done 
before, and told out of the monk’s mail-bag eight hundred 
pound. 4 Sir,’ he said, 6 the monk is true enough ; Our 
Lady hath doubled your cast ! ’ 4 What told I you, 

monk ? ’ said Robin. 4 Our Lady is the truest woman 
that ever I found ; never in all England was a better 
surety. Fill of the best wine, monk, and greet your 
Lady.’ Then he said, 4 Come forth, Little J ohn : 
I know no better yeoman to search a monk’s mail : 
go see how much is in yon other coffer.’ 4 By Our 
Lady,’ said the monk, 4 what courtesy is this, to bid a 
man to dinner and then rob him ? ’ 4 It is our old 

manner,’ said Robin, 4 to leave but little behind when 
we dine.’ 

The monk took horse to go. 4 1 am sorry I came 
near you,’ he said. 4 1 might have dined cheaper 
elsewhere.’ 4 Greet well your Abbot from me,’ said 
Robin, 4 and bid him send me such a monk every day 
to dine with me ! ’ 

Now leave we the Black Monk, and speak we of 
that knight ; for he came to keep his day, before it 
was dark. He came straight to Barnesdale, and under 
the greenwood tree he found Robin Hood and all his 
merry men. He lit down off his palfrey and courteously 
doffed his hood. Then said Robin, 4 1 pray you, Sir 
Knight, tell me what need drives you to greenwood. 
Tell me truly, have you your land again ? ’ 4 Yea,’ 

said the knight, 4 thanks to God and to you. But take 
it not ill that I have been so long ; I came by a wrestling, 
and there I helped a poor yeoman, that was being put 


RESCUE FOR RESCUE 95 

down by wrong.’ ‘ Now for that,’ said Robin, ‘ Sir 
Knight, I thank you ; whoever helps a good yeoman, 
I will be his friend.’ 

Then said the knight, 1 Take here the four hundred 
pound, which you lent me ; and for your courtesy these 
twenty marks beside.’ ‘ Nay ! ’ said Robin, ‘ for Our 
Lady, by her cellarer, hath sent me my money ; and 
if I should take it twice, it were shame to me.’ So 
Robin told his tale, and laughed over it ; but the knight 
said again, 1 By my troth, here is your money ready.’ 

‘ Use it well, gentle knight,’ said Robin , 6 and be welcome 
under my trysting tree. But what are these bows for 
and these arrows ? ’ ‘With your will,’ said the knight, 

‘ they are a poor present from me.’ 

Then said Robin, ‘ Come forth, Little John, go to 
my treasury, and bring me four hundred pound that 
the monk overpaid me. Now, gentle knight, take here 
four hundred pound and buy you therewith horse and 
harness and gilt spurs ; and if you lack more to spend, 
come to Robin Hood, and by my troth you shall never 
go short while I have anything to give. And use well 
your four hundred pound, which I lent you, and take 
my counsel and strip yourself never again so bare.’ 

Thus good Robin helped the knight of all his 
trouble ; and so God help us all ! 

5. Rescue for Rescue 

Hear now again of the proud Sheriff of Nottingham, 
how he cried a match for all the best archers of the 
North Country ; whereat he that should shoot best and 
furthest, fair and low, at a pair of goodly butts set up 
under the greenwood, should have for prize a right good 
silver arrow, headed and feathered with rich gold. The 


96 


ROBIN HOOD 


news of this came to Robin Hood under his trysting 
tree in Sherwood. ‘ Make ready now, my merry men,’ 
he said. ‘ You and I will go to this meeting and try 
the Sheriff, if he will keep his oath or no.’ So they 
took their bows and went with Robin, seven score of 
sturdy men. 

When they came to Nottingham they found the butts 
set up fair and long, and many bold archers with stout 
bows shooting at them. Then said Robin to his men, 
6 There shall but six of you shoot with me ; the rest 
shall stand with bows bent, to keep guard lest I be taken 
unaware.’ So three outlaws shot their round, and then 
a fourth ; the fourth was Robin Hood, and the proud 
Sheriff knew him as he stood by the butt. Thrice Robin 
shot, and every time he split the wand. Then Little 
John and Much and Scathelock shot like good archers ; 
but when all had shot all their rounds, Robin Hood 
was the best every time. So the good silver arrow was 
delivered to him, as the most worthy ; and courteously 
he took the gift, and made ready to go home to Sherwood. 

Then the Sheriff’s men raised hue and cry against 
Robin Hood, and began to blow great horns. ‘ Woe 
take your treason ! ’ said Robin, 6 and woe take you, 
proud Sheriff, for treating your guest to such cheer. 
In the forest yonder you made me a promise of another 
sort. I tell you, if I had you again under my trysting 
tree in the greenwood, you should leave a better pledge 
than your true loyalty ! ’ Then there was bending of 
bows on this side and on that, and the arrows began 
to glide ; many a kirtle was torn, and many a man hurt. 
The outlaws shot so strong that no force could drive 
them back, and soon the Sheriff’s men were right glad 
to run. 


RESCUE FOR RESCUE 97 

When Robin saw that the ambush was broken, he 
would gladly have gone away to the greenwood ; but 
there was many an arrow shot among his company, 
and Little John was hurt full sore in the knee, so that 
he could neither walk nor ride. 4 Master,’ he said, 4 if 
ever you loved me, and if ever I served you, now let 
the proud Sheriff not take me alive ; but draw your 
brown sword and smite off my head, or wound me dead 
and wide, that there be no life left in me.’ ‘ Little 
John,’ said Robin, 4 1 would not have you dead, for all 
the gold in merry England.’ Then he took him up on 
his own back, and bore him away ; many a time he laid 
him down, and shot another arrow, and took him up 
again. So he brought him a good mile, to a fair castle 
a little within the wood ; double ditched it was, and 
walled about. And there dwelt that gentle knight, 
Sir Richard at Lee, to whom Robin had lent his money 
in the greenwood. The knight took in Robin and 
all his company. 4 Welcome, Robin Hood,’ he said. 
4 Welcome you are to me, and much I thank you for 
your courtesy and comfort to me in greenwood ; I love 
no man in the world so much as I do you, and right here 
you shall be, for all the proud Sheriff of Nottingham. 
Shut the gates there, and draw the bridge, and let 
no man come in ; and come you all of you and make 
ready, and go to the walls. And one thing I promise 
you, Robin ; you shall stay here these twelve days, 
to dine and sup with me.’ So readily and anon the 
tables were laid and cloths spread, and Robin Hood 
and his merry men went to meat. 

But the proud Sheriff of Nottingham hurried away 
full fast to the High Sheriff, to rout up the countryside, 
and they came all about the knight’s castle and beset 

B 


98 


ROBIN HOOD 


it. The proud Sheriff summoned the knight loudly. 
‘ Traitor knight, you are keeping here the King’s enemies, 



How Robin carried Little John on his back. 

against the law.’ ‘ Sir,’ replied the knight from his 
high wall, 4 1 will avow all that is here done, and answer 
it with all my lands, as I am a true knight. Go your 


RESCUE FOR RESCUE 99 

way, sir, and do no more to me, until you know what 
our King will say to you.’ 

So the Sheriff had his answer, and away he went to 
London town to tell the King. And finely he told 
him of Robin Hood and his bold archers, and of that 
gentle knight, how that he said he would avow what he 
had done to maintain the outlaws. ‘ He would be lord,’ 
he said, 6 and set you, Sir King, at naught, through 
all the North Country.’ Then the King said, c Within 
this fortnight I will be at Nottingham, and I will take 
Robin Hood, and that knight too. Go home, Sheriff, 
and do as I bid you ; make ready good archers enough 
through all the countryside.’ 

Then the Sheriff took his leave of King Edward 
and went his way ; but before he came home Robin 
had gone back to greenwood, and Little John was whole 
of the arrow shot in his knee, and he came straight to 
Robin, and they walked the forest under the green leaves 
as they did aforetime, and the Sheriff was right wroth 
to hear of it. 

He had failed to take Robin, and lost his prey ; but 
day and night he plotted against the gentle knight. 
And at last he lay in wait for him as he went hawking 
by the river side, and took him with a strong force of 
men of arms, and bound him hand and foot and led 
him away to Nottingham ; and he swore he would give 
a hundred pound if he could take Robin too. 

When the knight’s wife heard this, she set her on a 
good palfrey and rode anon to greenwood ; and when 
she came into the forest, she found Robin and all his 
men under the trysting tree. ‘ God save you, good 
Robin,’ she said, 4 and all your company ; grant me a 
boon for our dear Lady’s sake ! Let not my wedded 


100 ROBIN HOOD 

lord be shamefully slain ; he is fast bound at Nottingham, 
and all for love of you.’ 4 What man has taken your 
lord ? ’ asked Robin. 4 The proud Sheriff,’ she said, 
‘ he has taken him as I tell you ; he is not yet three 
miles on his way.’ 

Then Robin started up like a man mad. 4 Make 
you ready, my merry men, for God’s sake ; he that 
leaveth this knight in sorrow shall no longer dwell 
with me.’ Quickly there were seven score bows bent, 
and seven score men running forth ; they stayed for 
neither hedge nor ditch. 4 1 vow to God,’ said Robin, 
4 1 would fain see that good knight, and if I may but 
find him he shall be well quit.’ They came to Notting- 
ham and went boldly through the street ; soon they 
met with the proud Sheriff and his men. 4 Stand, proud 
Sheriff,’ said Robin, 4 stand and speak with me ; I 
would fain hear some tidings of our King. Dear God ! 
I have not run so fast on foot this seven year ; I tell 
you well, it was not for your good that I came ! ’ 

Robin bent his bow and drew a full good arrow. 
He hit the proud Sheriff that he lay on the ground ; and 
before he could rise up to stand upon his feet, with his 
bright brand he smote off his head. 4 Lie you there, 
proud Sheriff, and ill go with you ; for no man might 
trust you while you were alive.’ Then his men drew 
out their bright swords and laid on to the Sheriff’s men, 
and drove them down the street together. Robin ran 
to the knight and cut his bonds, and put a bow in his 
hand and bade him stand by him. 4 Leave your horse 
behind,’ he said, 4 and learn to run afoot like us. You 
shall go with me to greenwood, and there dwell till I 
have got us all grace from Edward our King.’ 


ROBIN AND THE KING 


101 


6. Robin and the King 

Now the King, with a great array of knights, came 
to Nottingham to take Robin and that gentle knight, 
if he could. And first he asked the men of that country 
about them both, and they told him all the case. And 
when our King understood their tale he seized into his 
own hand all the knight’s lands, and rode away to hunt 
the deer. All over Lancashire he went, far and near, 
till he came to his royal park of Plompton ; but he 
missed many of his deer. Where he was wont to see 
many a herd, he could scarce find one deer that bore 
any good horn. 

At this the King was wondrous wroth, and he swore 
a great oath : ‘ I would that I had Robin Hood here 
before my eyes ! And he that shall smite off that 
knight’s head, and bring it to me, shall have all the 
knight’s lands. I will give them to him by charter, 
sealed with my own hand, to have and to hold for ever 
in all merry England.’ Then a good old knight that was 
there said to him, ‘ Ah ! my liege lord, let me say to 
you one word : there is no man in this country can hold 
the knight’s lands so long as Robin Hood can ride or 
run or bear a bow. Give them, my lord king, to no 
man that you wish well to, lest he lose the best ball 
in his hood, and that is his head.’ 

Now the King dwelt half a year and more in Notting- 
ham, and could never hear where Robin Hood was. 
But Robin went from nook to nook and from hill to 
hill, and killed the King’s deer as he pleased. At last 
came a proud forester and said to the King, ‘ Sir, if 
you would see Robin Hood, you must do as I would 
have you. Take five of your best knights, and walk 


102 ROBIN ROOD 

down to yon Abbey and get you monks’ habits ; then I 
will be your guide, and I dare lay my head that before 
you come to Nottingham you shall meet with Robin, 
if he is still alive.’ 

Quickly the King and his five knights dressed them 
in monk’s habit ; the King had a great broad hat on 
his crown over his cowl, as if he were an Abbot, and 
stiff boots beneath. He rode to the greenwood chanting 
as he went, and his five monks with him all in grey. 
His mail and his great baggage-horses followed behind. 
When they had gone a mile under the greenwood they 
found good Robin standing in the path, and many a 
bold archer with him. Robin took the King’s horse 
by the bridle and said, ‘ Sir Abbot, by your leave, you 
must stay awhile. We be yeomen of this forest, we live 
by the King’s deer and have no other shift, but you 
have churches and rents and gold in great plenty ; for 
saint charity, give us some of your spending.’ 

Then the King said, ‘ I have brought with me to 
greenwood no more than forty pound. I have been at 
Nottingham this fortnight past with our King, and I 
have spent much on many great lords. So I have but 
forty pound with me ; but if I had a hundred, I would 
give you half of it.’ Robin took the forty pound, and 
parted it in two. Half of it he gave to his men to make 
merry ; the other half to the King, saying, ‘ Sir, this 
for your spending ; we shall meet another day.’ ‘ I 
thank you,’ said the seeming Abbot, ‘ but Edward our 
King greets you by me and bids you to Nottingham to 
dine with him, and for token he sends you his seal.’ 
With that he took out the broad seal and showed it 
him, and Robin knelt in courtesy. 4 1 love no man in 
all the world so well as my King. My lord’s seal is 



How the King, disguised as an Abbot, visited Robin under the Greenwood Tree. 
















































































































ROBIN AND THE KING 103 

welcome; and for love of my King, you, Sir Abbot, 
shall dine with me to-day under my trysting tree.’ 

He led the King there by the hand, and there was 
many a deer slain and making ready ; and Robin took 
a great horn and blew it, and seven score of stout young 
men came ready and knelt a -row before Robin. The 
King said to himself, 6 Here is a wondrous seemly 
sight ; his men are more at his bidding than my men 
are at mine ! ’ Quickly was their dinner prepared, 
and they went to it. Both Robin and Little John served 
the King with all their might — they set before him the 
fat venison, the good white bread, the good red wine, 
and fine brown ale. ‘ Make good cheer. Abbot,’ said 
Robin, c and a blessing on you for your tidings. Now, 
before you go hence, you shall see what kind of life we 
lead ; then you can inform the King when you are with 
him again.’ 

With that they all started up and bent their bows 
smartly— the King was never so aghast in his life, he 
thought he was a lost man. But they set up two wands 
and went to shoot at them. The King said the mark 
was too far by fifty yards. Each wand had a rose 
garland about it, and Robin said, 6 Whoever shoots 
outside the garland shall forfeit his tackle, be it never 
so fine, and yield it to the man that beats him, and he 
shall stand a buffet on his bare head besides.’ And 
all that fell to Robin’s lot he beat, and buffeted right 
sorely. Little John and Scathelock, and Gilbert of the 
white hand, whenever they missed the garland, Robin 
smote them sorely. Twice he shot and cleft the wand ; 
but at the last shot he missed the garland by three 
fingers’ width and more. Then said good Gilbert, 

‘ Master, your tackle is lost ; stand forth and take your 


104 ROBIN HOOD 

pay.’ 4 If it be so,’ said Robin, 4 Sir Abbot, I deliver 
up my arrow to you, and pray you to serve me my 
buffet.’ 

‘ It is not for one of my Order,’ said the King, 4 to 
smite a good yeoman.’ 4 Smite on boldly,’ said Robin* 

4 1 give you full leave.’ At that same word the King 
folded back the sleeve of his gown, and gave Robin 
such a buffet that he well nigh fell to ground. 4 1 
vow,’ said Robin, 4 you are a stalwart monk ; there’s 
pith in your arm. I wager you can shoot.’ 

Then he looked the King in the face and knew him ; 
so did the gentle knight, Sir Richard at Lee, and together 
they knelt down before him. And when the wild out- 
laws saw them kneel, they all did the same. 4 Now I 
know you,’ said Robin. 4 My Lord the King of 
England ! ’ 4 Then, Robin,’ said the King, 4 of your 

goodness and grace I ask you mercy for my men and 
me.’ 4 Yes, ’fore God ! ’ said Robin, 4 and I also crave 
mercy, my Lord King, for me and for my men.’ 4 Yes, 
’fore God ! ’ said the King, 4 and therefore I came myself, 
that you should leave the greenwood, you and all your 
company, and come home, sir, to my Court, and dwell 
with me there.’ 4 Right so shall it be,’ said Robin, 4 1 
will come to your Court and try your service ; and 
I will bring with me my men, seven score and three. 
But, if I like not your service, I will come again to 
greenwood and shoot at the dun deer as I was wont.’ 

Then said the King, 4 Now, Robin, have you any 
green cloth that you will sell to me ? ’ 4 Yea,’ said 

Robin, 4 1 were a fool else ; for another day I guess 
you will be clothing me, against Christmas.’ Then the 
King cast off his Abbot’s gown and did on him a green 
garment, and his knights likewise: and when they 


ROBIN AND THE KING 105 


were all clothed in Lincoln green they cast away their 



Robin and his outlaws kneel to the King under the greenwood tree. 


grey, and the King said , 6 Now will we go to Nottingham.’ 




106 ROBIN HOOD 

So they bent their bows and went toward Nottingham, 
shooting all in company as they went, like outlaws. 

The King and Robin- rode together, and by the way 
they shot pluck-buffet, as they had done in greenwood 
at the garland : and the King won many a buffet of 
Robin, and Robin spared him not. ‘ God help me ! ’ 
said the King, ‘ your game is not easy to learn ! I should 
not win a shot of you though I shot for a whole year ! ’ 

Now, when they came near to Nottingham, the 
people all stood staring at them ; they saw nothing 
but mantles of green that covered the fields on every 
side, and one to another they began to say, 4 1 fear 
our King be slain, and if Robin comes to town he will 
leave not one of us alive.’ Then they began to flee 
in haste, yeomen and knaves and old women that could 
but hobble. The King laughed, and bade them turn 
again, and when they saw it was the King they were 
right glad ; they fell to eating and drinking, and singing 
loudly. Then the King called Sir Richard at Lee. 
And there he gave him all his land again and bade him 
be his good liege — and at that Robin too knelt upon 
his knee and thanked the King. 

So Robin came to Court ; and when he had dwelt 
in the King’s Court but fifteen months, he had spent 
a hundred pound, beside wages to his men — for in every 
place where he came he would lay down both for knights 
and for squires. Then, by ten and by ten, he sent his 
merry men away ; and when the year was all gone, he had 
none left but two ; Little John and good Scathelock. 

Now it chanced on a day that he saw the young 
men shooting, and they shot at a far mark. 4 Alas ! ’ 
then he said, 6 my wealth is gone. Time was that I 
was a good archer, stiff and strong — I was counted the 


THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD 107 

best archer in all merry England. Alas, and wellaway ! 
Sorrow will kill me, if I dwell longer with the King.’ 

Then Robin went to the King and knelt before him. 
‘ My Lord the King,’ he said, 4 grant me my asking. I 
built me in Barnesdale a chapel, seemly to look upon. 
I named it for Saint Mary Magdalen, and I would fain 
go thereto. This seven-night I have known neither 
sleep nor wink, and all these seven days I have neither 
eaten nor drunken, I long so to be in Barnesdale. I 
cannot stay therefrom : I have vowed to go a pilgrimage 
thither, barefoot and in woollen shirt.’ 4 If it be so,’ 
said the King, 4 1 give you leave to dwell away from me 
for seven nights, but no longer.’ 4 1 thank you, my 
Lord King,’ said Robin, and he took his leave full 
courteously, and went straight to greenwood. 

He came to greenwood in a merry morning, and 
there he heard the small notes of birds singing. 4 It 
is a far time,’ he said, 4 since I was here last ; it 
would please me to shoot a little at the dun deer.’ 
Then he bent his bow and slew a full great hart, and 
then he took his horn and blew it. And all the outlaws 
of the forest knew that horn, and in a short space they 
gathered them all together, seven score of sturdy men 
a-row. And there they did off their hoods and knelt 
before Robin. 4 Welcome, dear master,’ they said, 

4 welcome under this trysting tree ! ’ 

And there, for twenty year and two, Robin dwelt 
with them in greenwood ; for all his dread lord, King 
Edward, he would never to Court again. 

7. The Death of Robin Hood 
Hear now how Robin Hood, that was never taken 
nor beguiled by living man, was brought to his death 


108 ROBIN HOOD 

by a wicked woman, the Prioress of Kirkleys, that was 
nigh of kin to him. On a day, when he had come to 
his old age, Robin and Little John went walking over a 
bank of broom, and Robin said to Little John, 4 Little 
John, you and I have shot for many a pound together, 
and now I am not able to shoot one shot more ; my 
broad arrows will no longer fly. But I have a cousin 
that lives down below yonder, and please God she will 
bleed me. I shall never be able to eat or drink again,’ 
he said, 6 my meat will do me no good, till I have been 
to the Abbey of Kirkleys to be bled. The Dame Prioress 
is my aunt’s daughter, and nigh of kin to me. I know 
that for all the world she would never do me harm.’ 

4 You go not by my assent, master,’ said Little John, 
4 without you take with you half a hundred of your 
best bowmen.’ Then said Robin, 4 If you are afeard, 
Little John, I counsel you to stay at home.’ 4 If you 
are wroth, my dear master,’ said Little John, 4 you shall 
never hear another word from me.’ 

So Robin went to the Abbey of Kirkleys and knocked 
upon the gate ; and the Dame Prioress rose up and 
let him in. Then Robin gave her twenty pound in 
gold, and bade her spend that for him as long as it 
lasted, and when she would she should have more. 
4 Cousin Robin,’ she said, 4 will you please to sit down 
and drink with me ? ’ 4 1 thank you, no,’ said Robin. 

4 1 will neither eat nor drink till you have let me blood.’ 

Then Dame Prioress went above, and came quickly 
down again with a pair of blood-irons in her hand, all 
wrapped in silk. 4 Set a chafing-dish to the fire,’ she 
said, 4 and strip your sleeve ’ — it is an unwise man 
that will not take a warning ! She laid the blood-irons 
to Robin’s vein,*and pierced it, and let out the good red 


THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD 109 

blood. And first it bled thick and fast, and afterwards 
it bled thin and slow. Then Robin knew well that there 
was treason. And there she blooded him as long as 
one drop of blood would run — all that livelong day she 
let him bleed, and until noon the next. 

Then Robin, being fast locked up in his room, be- 
thought him of the casement there ; but he was so 
weak that he could neither leap nor climb down. Then 
he bethought him of his bugle-horn, that hung down by 
his side. He set the horn to his mouth, and he blew 
three blasts. 

Weak enough they were, but Little John heard 
them where he sat under a tree in greenwood. c I fear,’ 
lie said, 6 my master is now near death, he blows so 
wearily.’ Then he rose up and went as fast as he could 
run to the Abbey of Kirkleys, and when he came there 
he broke all the locks, without and within, until he 
found Robin ; then he fell on his knee before him. 

4 A boon, a boon, master ! ’ he cried. ‘ What boon is 
this that you beg of me ? ’ asked Robin. And Little 
John said, 4 That I may burn the Abbey of Kirkleys and 
all their nunnery.’ 

4 Nay, nay,’ said Robin, 4 that boon I’ll not grant. 
In all my time I never yet hurt woman, nor man in 
woman’s company. In all my life I never yet hurt a 
maid, and it shall not be done in my death. But bend 
me my bow, and give it into my hand ; one more broad 
arrow I will let fly, and where that arrow is found there 
you shall dig my grave. And at my head and at my 
feet you shall lay a green sod, and at my side my bent 
bow, that made sweet music to my ear, that when I 
am dead men may say: 44 Here lies bold Robin Hood.” ’ 

So Robin kept faith with Our Lady, whom he loved. 


BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK 
PRINCE 


1. An Ugly Duckling 

Bertrand, eldest son of Robert du Guesclin, knight, 
was born in 1320 in his father’s castle of La Motte 
de Broons, not far from Dinan in Brittany. The du 
Guesclins were of ancient and honourable birth, but 
Robert belonged to a poorer branch of them ; his castle 
was a very small one and his family inconveniently 
large. There were six girls, and four boys, of whom 
only two, Bertrand and Oliver, lived to grow up. Oliver 
was a good knight in the wars ; but Bertrand was far 
more than that. He rose by force of character and 
ability to be successively Banneret, Count, Duke, and 
Constable of France ; and those titles were in his case 
true symbols, for he was one of the greatest soldiers 
ever seen in Europe. 

His story is one very encouraging to unlikely boys, 
for if ever there was an ugly duckling it was Bertrand in 
his early days. He was very brown, with a turn-up 
nose and green eyes, a thick heavy figure and clumsy 
gestures. As for his manners, they were impulsive 
and almost brutal. His mother could not bear to have 
him near her or the other children, and made him take 
his meals at a separate table. He Was sensitive, and this 
exasperated him. On one occasion, when his mother 
no 


Ill 


AN UGLY DUCKLING 

had helped his brothers to roast chicken before him, 
he broke out, ordered them to make room for him, and 
began to grab the dishes. His mother threatened to 
strike him if he did not leave the room ; whereupon he 
got up, but so violently as to upset the table and every- 
thing upon it. For a young gentleman of six, this was 
at least remarkable. The only person who could see any- 
thing in him was a lay sister from the convent, a Jewess 
who came to nurse his mother through a fever. She 
was skilled in palmistry and took an opportunity of ex- 
amining the lines in Bertrand’s hand. He said fiercely : 
4 I shall come to neither honour nor happiness ; my 
father and mother repel me, I cannot tell why.’ His 
mother explained : 4 He is rude and ungracious- — he 
fights and worries the others — he has neither sense nor 
manners, and I wish he were dead ! ’ The lay sister 
replied : 4 Lady, fruit is no good that ripens too early. 
I give you my solemn word that this boy that you 
complain of will be more renowned than any of his 
ancestors. He will have no equal under heaven, and he 
will be so heaped with honours by the Fleurs-de-Lis 
(the Kings of France) that he will be famous from here 
to Jerusalem. You may burn me alive if this does not 
come true one day.’ At this moment dinner came in — 
a roast peacock this time — and Bertrand, who was quite 
changed by what he had heard prophesied of him, took 
the dish from the servant and insisted on waiting at 
table himself, as was the duty in those days of a good 
squire or page. 

After this, his parents thought better of him; but 
they still found him very troublesome. When only 
nine years old, he began to get together the forty or fifty 
boys of the village, and divide them into two companies 


112 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

to fight one another. Whenever he saw one company 
getting the worst of it, he would rush in to the rescue, 
shouting his war-cry 4 Guesclin ! ’ and when everybody 
was dead beat, he would take the whole party off to the 
tavern and treat them to drinks, which were scored up 
to him till he could scrape together the money to pay. 
His mother naturally objected to these fights, in which 
he ruined his clothes, and his father tried to stop them 
by forbidding his tenants to allow their boys to play with 
Bertrand under pain of a fine of a hundred sous. But 
Bertrand made them come out by force ; and when his 
father locked him up, he snatched the key from the 
servant who brought his food, and ran away to the house 
of an uncle. 

By this time he was sixteen, and his aunt, who was 
a very pious woman, thought she could make something 
of him. She took him to church a good deal, but he 
used to slip out during the service and go to the village 
sports. He became known for his big shoulders and 
fists, and one day he succeeded in throwing the local 
wrestling champion. But in falling on him he cut his 
own knee, and had to be carried home and attended by 
a surgeon ; his aunt only forgave him on his promising 
to give up rustic contests and keep to jousts and tourna- 
ments like a gentleman. When he went home, at the 
end of a year’s stay, he kept this promise, and his father 
was delighted to mount him on a pony of his own. 
He had very little money for his equipment, but that 
difficulty was got over when his chance came. 

In 1337, when Bertrand was seventeen, Jeanne de 
Ponthi&vre, niece of the Duke of Brittany, was married 
to Charles, son of the Comte de Blois and nephew of 
the King of France. In honour of this event there were 



Bertrand rides into Rennes for the tournament 
















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•-C4 




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AN UGLY DUCKLING 118 

festivities throughout Brittany, and one of the most 
important was the great tourney at Rennes. Bertrand 
was determined to compete ; but the only charger he 
could get was a farm-horse of his father’s 4 for which 
no one would have bid four little florins,’ and he was 
ashamed to appear on such an animal. As he rode in to 
Rennes he could hear people saying, 4 What ! a knight’s 
son mounted on a miller’s horse ! ’ ; or, 4 One would take 
him for a cow-boy — he looks more like ploughing than 
jousting.’ It was worse still when he reached the market- 
place, where the lists were, and saw the crowd of great 
ladies and rich citizens’ wives, all in their best dresses, 
and the knights all in bright armour and magnificently 
mounted, waiting for the barriers to be opened. 4 Oh ! ’ 
he groaned, 4 1 am so plain that no lady will ever love 
me, or let me wear her colours. But if I had only a 
good horse, if only I were armed like a gentleman, I 
would challenge the best mounted men here, and either 
floor them or get killed on the spot. It is too bad of 
my father — he does not treat me like a knight’s son. 
But if it is my fate to succeed him, I swear I’ll get 
more honour and glory than Roland or King Arthur 
or Gawain, even if it costs me every penny of my 
inheritance.’ 

Then the trumpets sounded and the champions rode 
into the lists ; the ladies waved their scarves, and the 
jousting began. Bertrand felt more out of it than ever, 
but he was keen to watch the performances of his father 
and his cousin Oliver de Mauny, both of whom were 
doing well. Oliver was about his own age, and was 
equipped with fine armour and a big charger. When he 
had run his courses according to the rules, Bertrand 
hurried to him and begged him to lend him his horse and 


114 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

armour. Oliver was a good cousin. He lent them at 
once, and insisted on arming Bertrand himself. 

It was a fortunate beginning to a long friendship. 
Bertrand was at once challenged, and in his first course 
he not only unhelmed and stunned his adversary, 
but overthrew and killed his horse. ‘ A good squire ! ’ 
cried the heralds — they could not proclaim him by name 
for he refused to raise his visor. When the fallen knight 
came to, he sent to ask the name and family of his 
conqueror. The message came back : 4 Sir, you cannot 
know who the squire is, until he is unhelmed by you or 
some other.’ 4 Then bring me a fresh charger,’ said the 
knight, 4 1 will not give up till I know by whom I have 
been unseated. I do not know who he is, but I am 
certain he is a gentleman, and of good blood too.’ 

By this time people were getting interested and 
curious. A number of the best riders challenged the 
anonymous squire, and he defeated them all, one after 
another — the mystery became quite exciting. At last 
Sir Robert du Guesclin rode out and challenged his own 
son without knowing him. This was what was called, 
in old days, 4 Nuts for Bertrand,’ for of course he recog- 
nised his father by the arms on his shield. Instead of 
charging him, he lowered the point of his spear in a 
courteous salute and declined the contest. Another 
champion, who supposed that he was afraid, immediately 
challenged Bertrand, who sent his helm flying from his 
head. For this he was again proclaimed by the heralds, 
who cried, 4 Victory to the adventurous stranger ! ’ 

From first to last, Bertrand ran no less than fifteen 
courses, which was about three times the usual number. 
Naturally his success could not go on for ever ; in his 
sixteenth attempt, a Norman knight unhelmed him. 


115 


A BOY PRINCE 

But then he had a fresh triumph ; for when they 
recognised him, his friends overwhelmed him with con- 
gratulations, and the judges awarded him the prize. His 
father was more than delighted. He was a thoroughly 
good man of arms himself, and he saw that it was worth 
his while to put money on a son like this — in fact, worth 
while to stake the family fortune on him. 4 Fair son,’ 
he said, 4 you may count on my treating you less shabbily 
than I have done hitherto. From to-day onwards, I 
will give you all the horses you like to ask for, and you 
shall not want for money. You have behaved so well 
to-day that to give you your chance of going the whole 
way and making a reputation, I would not hesitate to 
mortgage my estate for years. 5 

Sir Robert was a shrewd man, and he judged the 
chances rightly. He naturally did not live to the end 
of his son’s career ; but he lived to welcome him back 
as Comte de Longue ville and Marshal of Normandy, 
after his great victory at Cocherel, and to know that the 
fame of the du Guesclins was made for ever. 

2. A Boy Prince 

On Friday, June 15, in the year 1330, when Bertrand 
was a boy of ten, fighting with the ragamuffins of the 
village, there was born in the palace of Woodstock 
another boy, destined to be his antagonist in many 
years of war, and to rival him in knightly fame for 
centuries afterwards. This was Edward, eldest son 
of King Edward III of England and Philippa ( 4 the 
good Queen ’), afterwards and for all time known as 
‘ The Black Prince. 5 

The story of his boyhood is in curious contrast 
with that of the young du Guesclin. For the first 


116 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

few years of Edward’s life, the ambassadors of the 
two greatest, nations in Europe were continually trying 
to arrange a marriage between the baby prince and 
Johanna, the little daughter of the King of France. 
When he was three, his father made him Earl of Chester, 
and gave him the revenues which are to this day in- 
herited by every Prince of Wales. When he was 
nearly seven, he was brought into Parliament, where the 
King not only gave him the Earldom of Cornwall, 
which had belonged to his own brother, John of Eltham, 
but also granted to him the revenue, title, and dignity 
of Duke of Cornwall, girded him with a sword, and 
saluted him as the first English Duke in history. There- 
upon the young Duke, though not himself a knight, 
was allowed to dub twenty knights from among the 
most distinguished young men at Court — and very 
proud they were, in after days, that they had received 
their knighthood from his hand. He himself had, of 
course, to wait ; for knighthood was not a mere title, 
like his dukedom, nor a mere property like the estates 
of Cornwall or Chester. It was a real order of service, 
and laid definite duties upon its members, which no 
child could discharge, however rich and high-born he 
might happen to be. 

After this, Edward was handed over again to his 
tutor. Doctor Walter Burleigh, for some six years. 
This was an exciting time for him. Though he had 
no adventures of his own, his father was in Flanders 
making war on France, of which he claimed to be the 
rightful king. In June 1340, when Edward was ten, 
the news came that Edward of England had challenged 
Philip of Valois, as he called the King of France, to 
meet him in single fight and settle the right to the 


A BOY PRINCE 117 

kingdom by their two bodies. As an alternative, he 
offered to meet him with 200 knights a side. Neither 
offer was accepted, but even to hear of them must have 
made young Edward keener to begin his training in 
riding and the use of arms. And now, in 1341, began 
the long struggle which was destined to bring both 
Bertrand and Edward into the field, and last through 
both their lives. John, Duke of Brittany, died in April 
of that year ; and as he left no children, his dukedom 
was claimed by his niece Jeanne, who was married, 
as we have already seen, to Charles de Blois, nephew 
of King Philip of France. But the Duke left also a 
younger brother of his own still living, called John 
de Montfort, and he claimed that the right of a brother 
came before that of a niece. The Council decided in 
favour of Charles and Jeanne de Blois. John de Mont- 
fort took up arms against them, and was immediately 
captured ; but his wife, Jeanne de Montfort, gallantly 
carried on the campaign for him, and appealed for 
help to the King of England. She came over to England 
in 1342, and Edward III was very ready to back her 
against his enemy, Philip of France ; but after two 
unsuccessful expeditions, he was near being captured 
himself and had to make a truce for three years. 

When he came home, he began to make his plans 
for the future, and he decided that young Edward, who 
was now nearly thirteen, was old enough to begin 
training for war and public life. On May 12, 1343, in 
the presence of Parliament, he created him Prince of 
Wales, and as symbols of his new rank he put on him 
a gold coronet and ring, and gave him a silver wand. 
He also granted him all the royal land’s and rights in 
North and South Wales ; but he still reserved the 


118 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

honour of knighthood till the Prince should be a real 
man of arms. 

In 1345, the truce was broken by the King of France, 
who suddenly arrested Sir Oliver de Clisson and fourteen 
other Breton lords of the Montfort party, and had them 
beheaded, without even the pretence of a trial. This 
was simply a treacherous murder, and an English army 
under the Earl of Derby was sent to France, where 
they defeated the French under the Comte de Lille, 
and then retired to Bordeaux for the wdnter. It was 
during this campaign that Bertrand du Guesclin had 
his first experience of war. He was now twenty-five 
and a good man of arms, but otherwise not much 
changed. He got together a band of irregular troops 
to fight for Charles de Blois, and started a guerilla 
war in the Forest of Paimpont — called in the legends 
of the Round Table the Forest of Broceliande. Having 
no money to pay his men, he went to his mother’s room, 
and took without her leave all the jewels and money 
he could find there, promising to repay a hundredfold. 
Soon afterwards he was riding through the forest, 
mounted on a farm-horse which he had also borrowed 
somewhere without leave. He had with him one man 
on foot, who threatened to go home if he were not 
provided with a mount too. At that moment they 
heard the sound of hoofs and the clank of armour. 
‘ Silence ! ’ said Bertrand, ‘ in one minute, if I am not 
dead, you shall be mounted.’ In the track ahead 
was an English knight, with a squire and a valet, all 
armed. Bertrand charged them furiously, killed the 
knight and squire with his axe, mounted the knight’s 
horse, and overtook the valet, who was escaping with 
the baggage. It turned out to contain a large sum 


119 


A BOY PRINCE 

of money, with which the unfortunate knight was going 
to pay his ransom at the Castle of Forgeray. Bertrand 
gave the squire’s horse to his own man, returned the 
one he had borrowed, and rode home in the knight’s 
armour. ‘ How long have you been a knight ? ’ said 
his mother, when she saw him. ‘ My lady mother,’ 
he replied, ‘ pray forgive me my occasional thefts — see 
the money I have taken, you may dip in it with both 
hands. For every penny I took from you, I will give 
‘ you twenty shillings.’ 

Young Edward’s first campaign was of a very 
different kind. He was now sixteen, tall and strong, 
and he was known by the name of the Black Prince, 
from the black armour which he w r ore. On July 11, 
1346, he and his father sailed from St. Helen’s, in the 
Isle of Wight, and came to La Hogue, with an enormous 
fleet, carrying 4000 men-at-arms (making, with their 
followers, 20,000 mounted men), 10,000 archers, 12,000 
Welshmen, and 6000 Irish. They stayed six days 
at La Hogue ; and there, though he was still far from 
the full age of twenty-one, the Prince was dubbed a 
knight by his father, in order that he might take his 
proper place in the stiff work that was coming. 

The army then marched — first along the coast ; 
then to Caen, which they took and sacked ; then towards 
Paris, by the left bank of the Seine, fighting hard all 
the way. By the time they reached Poissy, two miles 
from Paris, King Philip was desperately alarmed. 
He gathered a huge army at St. Denis, and came on to 
crush the English. But before he could reach them, 
King Edward had rebuilt the bridge of Poissy; and 
on August 16 he crossed the Seine, and marched north- 
wards to join with his Flemish allies. The French 


120 GUESCLTN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

tried to cut him off, and hoped to prevent him from 
crossing the Somme, but he found a ford called Blan- 
ch etaque, and made off towards the sea. When he 
reached the Forest of Cressy he determined to stand 
and fight, for he had now captured Crotoy and secured 
plenty of victuals. On Friday, August 25, he recon- 
noitred and chose a good position in the open fields, 
and camped there. That night, says Froissart, the 
King made a supper to all his chief lords, and made 
them good cheer. Then, about midnight, he laid him 
down to rest, and in the morning he rose betimes and 
heard Mass, and the Prince his son with him. And 
after the Mass said, he commanded every man to be 
armed and to draw to the field to the same place before 
appointed. 

Then he ordained the battalions. In the first was 
the young Prince of Wales, with him the Earls of 
Warwick and Stafford, Sir Thomas Holland, Sir John 
Chandos, Sir Robert Neville, and divers other knights 
and squires. They were an eight hundred men of 
arms, and two thousand arehers, and a thousand of 
others, with the Welshmen. Every lord drew to the 
field appointed, under his own banner and pennon. 
In the second battalion were the Earl of Northampton, 
the Earl of Arundel, and divers others — about eight 
hundred men of arms and twelve hundred archers. 
The King had the third battalion ; he had seven 
hundred men of arms and two thousand archers. 

Then the King leapt on a horse, with a white rod 
in his hand — one of his marshals on the one hand, and 
the other on the other hand. He rode from rank to 
rank, desiring every man to take heed that day to his 
right and honour. He spake it so sweetly, and with 


A BOY PRINCE 


121 


so good countenance and merry cheer, that all such 
as were discomfited took courage in the saying and 
hearing of him. And when he had thus visited all 
his battalions, it was then nine of the day. Then he 
caused every man to eat and drink a little, and so they 
did, at their leisure. And afterwards they again set 
in order their battalions. Then every man lay down 
on the earth, and by him his steel cap and bow, to be 
the more fresher when their enemies should come. 

As soon as they saw the Frenchmen approach, they 
rose upon their feet fair and easily, without any haste, 
and arranged their battalions. The first were the 
Prince’s battalion. The archers there stood in manner 
of a harrow, and the men of arms at the rear of the 
battalion. The Earl of Northampton and the Earl of 
Arundel were on a wing in good order, ready to support 
the Prince’s battalion, if need were. 

When the French King saw the Englishmen, he 
said to his marshals, ‘Make the Genoese go on before 
and begin the battle in the name of God and St. Denis.’ 
There were of the Genoese crossbows about 15,000 ; 
but they were weary of going a six leagues afoot that 
day. Also, at the same time, there fell a great rain and 
a flash of lightning, with a terrible thunder ; and before 
the rain, there came flying over both armies a great 
number of crows, for fear of the tempest coming. Then 
anon the air began to wax clear and the sun to shine 
fair and bright; the which was right in the French- 
men’s eyes, and on the Englishmen’s backs. 

When the Genoese began to approach, they made 
a great cry, to abash the Englishmen ; but they stood 
still, and stirred not for all that. Then the Genoese 
again made another fell cry, and stepped forward a 


122 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

little, and the Englishmen removed not one foot. 
Thirdly again they cried and went forward, till they 
came within shot; then they shot fiercely with their 
crossbows. 

Then the English archers stepped forth one pace, 
and let fly their arrows so wholly together, and so thick 
that it seemed snow. When the Genoese felt the 
arrows piercing through heads, arms and breasts, 
many of them cast down their crossbows, and did cut 
their strings and returned discomfited. And ever 
still the Englishmen shot where they saw thickest 
press. The sharp arrows ran into the men of arms and 
into their horses, and many fell, horse and man, among 
the Genoese ; and when they were down they could 
not rise again, the press was so thick. Certain French- 
men and Germans perforce broke through the archers 
of the Prince’s battalion, and came and fought with 
the men of arms hand to hand. Then the second 
battalion of the Englishmen came to succour the 
Prince’s battalion, the which was time, for they had 
then much ado ; and those with the Prince sent a 
messenger to the King, who was on a little windmill 
hill. 

Then the King said, ‘ Is my son dead, or hurt, or on 
the earth felled ? ’ 4 No, sir,’ said the knight, ‘ but he 

is hardly matched ; wherefore he hath need of your aid.’ 
‘ Well,’ said the King, 4 return to him, and to them that 
sent you hither, and say to them that they send no more 
to me, whatever adventure befalleth, as long as my son 
is alive. And also say to them, that they suffer him this 
day to win his spurs ; for if God be pleased, I will that 
this day’s work be his, and the honour thereof, and to 
them that be about him,’ Then the knight returned 


123 


A BOY PRINCE 

again to them, and showed the King’s words, the which 
greatly encouraged them ; and they repented in that 
they had sent to the King as they did. 

The French fought valiantly, but finally they could 
not resist the puissance of the Englishmen, and there 
many of them were slain for all their prowess. In the 
evening the French King had left about him no more 
than a threescore persons, one and other. Then the 
King was led away, in a manner perforce, and came to 
the Castle of La Broyes, and so rode till he came in the 
morning to Amiens and there rested. This battle ended 
about evensong time. 

And when the night was come, and the Englishmen 
heard no more noise of the Frenchmen, then they re- 
ported themselves to have the victory, and the French- 
men to be discomfited, slain, and fled away. Then they 
made great fires, and lighted up torches and candles, 
because it was very dark. Then the King came down 
from the little hill where he stood, and all that day till 
then his helm came never upon his head. Then he went 
to his son the Prince, and embraced him in his arms and 
kissed him and said : ‘ Fair son, God give you good per- 
severance ; ye are my good son, thus ye have acquitted 
you nobly, ye are worthy to guard a realm.’ The Prince 
inclined himself to the earth, honouring the King his 
father. This night they thanked God for their good 
adventure, and made no boast thereof ; for the King 
would have that no man should be proud or make 
boast, but every man humbly to thank God. 

On the Monday, in the morning, the King prepared 
to depart. The King caused the dead bodies of the great 
French lords to be taken up and conveyed to the Abbey 
of Montenay, and there buried in holy ground ; and 


124 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

made a cry in the country to grant truce for three days, 
to the intent that they of the country might search the 
field of Cressy, to bury the dead bodies. 

3. Ten Years’ Fighting 

After the victory of Cressy, the English at once laid 
siege to Calais. They also captured the strong castle 
of Roche Derrien ; and Charles de Blois, in attempting to 
retake it, was completely defeated and taken prisoner. 
This was in June 1347 ; on August 4, Calais surrendered 
and was immediately colonised by English civilians 
and strongly fortified. The surrounding country was 
ordered to be cleared by flying columns. In this work 
the Earl of Warwick received a severe check near St. 
Omer and lost a lot of men. But the Black Prince, 
who now, at seventeen, had a separate command for the 
first time, swept the country as far as the Somme, and 
came back laden with booty. At the end of September 
a fresh truce was made, and King Edward and the 
Prince returned to England. 

In December 1349, they had secret information that 
the French were planning a surprise attack on Calais. 
They hastily crossed from Dover, slipped into the town 
by night, and told Sir Walter de Mauny, the Governor, 
to make ready and they would fight in disguise under 
his command. The French leader, Geoffrey de Chargny, 
had bribed a certain Almeric of Pavia to let twelve 
knights into the citadel at midnight with a hundred 
men-at-arms ; but Almeric played double, and raised 
the drawbridge behind them, so that they were all 
trapped. Then the King and the Black Prince, shouting 
Mauny’s war-cry, rushed upon the French supports out- 


125 


TEN YEARS’ FIGHTING 

side. They had to fight desperately, being outnumbered 
two to one ; . and King Edward had a narrow escape. 
He was surrounded, with only thirty men, and twice 
beaten to his knees by a famous knight named Sir 
Eustace de Ribaumont ; his standard-bearer and secre- 
tary, Sir Guy de Bryan, could hardly keep the banner fly- 
ing, and all seemed lost, when the King suddenly made 
a charge, shouting his own cry, 4 A Edward, St. George ! 
k Edward, St. George ! * The Black Prince heard him, 
and came in upon Chargny’s rear. The French were cut 
to pieces, and Chargny and Ribaumont were both cap- 
tured, with thirty other knights. In the evening, the 
King gave the usual banquet to all his prisoners. The 
Black Prince and his knights placed the first course 
before them, and then seated themselves at a side -table. 
At the end of the supper the King, after speaking to 
each guest in turn, took a circlet of pearls from his own 
head, and gave it to Sir Eustace de Ribaumont saying : 
4 Sir Eustace, I never found knight that ever gave me 
so much ado, body to body, as ye have done this day. 
I give you this chaplet for the best doer in arms in this 
journey past, of either party, and I desire you to bear it 
this year for the love of me. I know well ye be fresh 
and amorous, and oftentimes be among ladies and 
damsels. Say, wheresoever ye come, that I did give it 
you ; and I quit you your prison and ransom, and ye 
shall depart to-morrow if it please you.’ 

On His return to England, King Edward founded the 
Order of the Garter at Windsor, on St. George’s Day. 
The Bishop of Winchester said Mass in the Chapel, as 
Prelate of the Order ; the twenty-four knights founders, 
of whom the Black Prince was the first, banqueted in 
the Hall, and afterwards there was a great tournament. 


126 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

in which the King and the Prince led the challengers. 
In August of the same year, the King of France died, 
and was succeeded by his son John. 

The truce lasted, off and on, till April 1354, and then 
came Bertrand du Guesclin’s first real chance in war. 
He had done a good deal of guerilla fighting in forests, 
but he was now attached to the famous Marechal Arnoul 
d’Audrehem. On April 10, when the truce had still 
three days more to run, they were at the Castle of 
Montmuran, for a fete, given by the Dame de Tinteniac ; 
and Sir Hugh Calverley, an English captain and free- 
booter in garrison near by, made a freebooter’s plan to 
surprise and capture them. Du Guesclin by some means 
sniffed the treachery, and placed a neat ambush of thirty 
archers on the road. They successfully held the English 
till the Marshal and Bertrand could come to the rescue. 
After a desperate fight, Calverley got the beating he 
deserved, and was captured, with a hundred of his men. 
Hardly one escaped. This was Bertrand’s doing, and at 
last he was recognised for what he was. In the evening 
he was bathed and dressed in a white robe ; at night 
he watched by his arms in the chapel of the Castle of 
Montmuran, and next morning he was knighted by the 
hand of Sir Eslatre de Mar&s, Castellan and Captain of 
Caen, who had been present in person at the fight. 
Bertrand had waited long for this honour; he was 
now thirty-five, but it was only the rich who could 
afford knighthood at twenty-one ; and when it came to 
him, it came not as a compliment or a token of promise, 
but as a military promotion for good work done. He was 
now a known man, and his battle-cry, ‘ Notre Dame 
Guesclin ! ’ soon became famous. 

His next exploit was to surprise the Castle of Forgeray 


127 


TEN YEARS’ FIGHTING 

by disguising himself and his men as wood-cutters. He 
was appointed governor of this castle, but was sent 
shortly afterwards to England with other Breton lords 
to negotiate for the ransoming of Charles de Blois. 
He must then have seen the King and the Black 
Prince, whom he had never yet met in the field. 

In August 1355 the Prince made a great march 
through Aquitaine, where he had things entirely his own 
way. In 1356 he invaded Auvergne, Berry and Touraine, 
and took the strong castle of Romorantin. This time 
the French King marched against him with so great an 
army that he had to make off in haste. King John over- 
took him near Poitiers, and forced him to fight ; but 
the result was a victory for the Black Prince so brilliant 
and so famous that a separate account must be given 
of it. It seems that Bertrand du Guesclin being then 
in garrison at Pontorson, once more failed to meet the 
Prince in battle. But his turn was coming to do his 
country a historic service. In October 1357, the Duke 
of Lancaster began the siege of Rennes, which was a 
very strong place, and not to be taken by assault. In 
January he also laid siege to Dinan, which was so badly 
garrisoned that the governor asked for a truce and 
agreed to surrender if not relieved by a certain date. 
During this truce Oliver du Guesclin, Bertrand’s brother, 
was riding out unarmed, when Sir Thomas of Canterbury, 
an English knight, took him prisoner and held him to 
ransom for a thousand florins. When Bertrand heard 
of this, he coloured ‘ like a red-hot coal,’ and rode 
straight to the tent of the Duke of Lancaster, whom 
he found playing chess with Sir John Chandos. The 
Duke offered him wine, but he said, ‘ I will not drink 
till you have done me justice.’ Sir Thomas was then 


128 -GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

summoned he made no defence, but threw down his 
glove and offered to prove his right in battle, body to 
body. Bertrand took up the glove and replied, 4 False 
knight ! traitor ! you shall bite the dust before all these 
lords, or I will die of shame ! ’ 

‘ I will not fail you,’ said Sir Thomas, 4 1 will not 
sleep in a bed again till I have fought you.’ 4 1 swear, 
by the Holy Trinity,’ replied Bertrand, 4 that I will eat 
nothing but three sops of bread in wine before I am 
armed.’ 

4 1 will arm you,’ said Chandos, ‘and I will lend you 
my best charger ; for I am in a hurry to see the trial 
between you two.’ 

The lists were set up in the market-place of Dinan, 
and there was great excitement in the town. One noble 
demoiselle, who was reputed to be learned in astro- 
nomy and philosophy, prophesied that Bertrand would 
certainly be the winner. This lady was Tiphaine, 
daughter of Sir Robert Raguenel and Jeanne de 
Dinan, Vicomtesse de la Belliere ; and her gift of pro- 
phecy was said to have been given her by a fairy 
godmother. 

At the first charge, both lances were splintered. 
Then, after some hard fencing, Sir Thomas’s sword flew 
from his hand. Bertrand instantly dismounted, picked 
it up, and threw it out of the lists. He then challenged 
his enemy to fight him on foot with daggers. Sir 
Thomas refused repeatedly, and Bertrand quickly 
slipped off his own leg armour, so that when the English- 
man charged, he was able to jump aside and stab his 
horse. Sir Thomas fell, and in a moment Bertrand 
was upon him, 4 like a lion with his mane up,’ beating 
his head with his iron gauntlets. The onlookers then 


TEN YEARS’ FIGHTING 129 

cried out 4 Enough ! ’ and Sir Robert Knollys called to 
Bertrand to give up his champion to the Duke of Lan- 
caster, who would be in his debt for this. Bertrand 
knelt to the Duke, saying : 4 Noble Duke, I pray and 
entreat you not to hate or blame me if I have maltreated 
this murderer. But for the love of you, he should have 
been killed.’ 

‘ He is not far off it as it is,’ said the Duke, smiling. 

4 You have proved your worth. Your brother Oliver 
shall go free, with a thousand livres to equip himself. 
For you, you will have the arms of the felon knight, 
and his horse too. As for him, he can never again 
appear at my court, for traitors are not thereto 
admitted.’ 

After this Dinan was relieved, and the Duke, went 
on with the siege of Rennes. He made no progress, and 
was so annoyed that he swore he would never depart 
from before Rennes until his banner should have floated 
over it. Provisions ran very low in the town ; but the 
governor played a very pretty trick on the Duke, and 
du Guesclin backed him up brilliantly. A volunteer 
was sent out from the garrison to get himself captured 
and give the enemy information that four or five thou- 
sand German troops were advancing to relieve the town. 
At the same time bells were rung and bands played 
as if in rejoicing at this. Off went the Duke with 
most of his army, to intercept the imaginary Germans. 
The messenger escaped and ran on to Nantes, where he 
told du Guesclin what was going on. Bertrand dashed 
with his men into the half-deserted English camp, 
burnt the tents and captured a hundred wagons loaded 
with salt meat, wine, and other supplies. These he 
rushed into Rennes, and then sent the' wagons back to 


130 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

the Duke, with a courteous promise to pay him a visit 
like a good neighbour. 

The Duke was so much impressed by his dash that 
he sent him an immediate invitation by a herald, and 
then offered him lands, and anything else he liked to 
ask, if he would enter his service. 4 Sir,’ replied Bertrand, 

4 God forbid that I should accept. Certainly, if there 
were a good peace between you and my own lord, I 
would place myself willingly at your disposal.’ The 
Duke liked him all the better ; he called for wine and 
spices, and drank his health. But, as they drank. 
Sir William Bramburgh, an English knight, challenged 
Bertrand to three courses with the lance. 4 Many 
thanks, fair sir, 5 he replied, 4 you ask for three ; I call 
God to witness that you shall have six, if necessary.’ 

The fight was fixed for next day, between the camp 
and the outer ditch of the town. The Duke sent Ber- 
trand a present of a fine charger. The governor offered 
him a steel breastplate ; but this he refused, and dressed 
himself in a thick jacket over a coat of mail. On his 
way to the lists he met his aunt, with whom he used to 
live. She wept, and said to him, 4 Take off your helm that 
I may kiss you.’ 4 Go along home, 5 he replied, 4 kiss your 
husband and get dinner ; please God, if my man is 
ready, I’ll be back before you have lit your fire.’ 

The whole city of Rennes was on the walls to see 
the fight. The Duke himself and the Earl of Pembroke 
kept the lists. The first three courses had no result. 
Bertrand then said : 4 Bramburgh, are you satisfied ? 
If you go on, I will not be answerable.’ 4 Let us go on,’ 
said Bramburgh. Bertrand’s next stroke drove clean 
through his shield and coat of mail, and threw him on the 
ground. 4 1 hope you have your money’s worth,’ cried 


COCHEREL AND AURAY 131 

Bertrand; He then received the Duke’s congratulations, 
gave the loser’s horse to one of the heralds, and went 
back to be feasted in Rennes. 

After this the siege dragged on again, till in April 
King Edward sent the order to abandon it. That the 
Duke could not do, without breaking his oath. So du 
Guesclin, who knew of this, persuaded the town authori- 
ties to come to terms and allow the Duke to enter with 
ten attendants, and place his banner over the gate, after 
which, having kept his vow, he was to decamp. This 
was solemnly done ; but the Duke had no sooner set up 
his banner, and gone out again, than the crowd threw 
it down and trampled it in the dust. However, the 
Duke’s oath had been saved, and he abandoned the 
siege accordingly. This was the first French success 
after the disaster of Poitiers; and it greatly raised 
the spirits of the nation. 

4. COCHEREL AND AURAY 

In 1359 Bertrand entered the royal service. King 
John of France being a prisoner in England, since the 
battle of Poitiers the war had been carried on by his 
son, the Dauphin Charles ; and in June of this year 
the two commanders, Charles of France and Charles 
of Blois, joined forces to take the town of Melun. Ber- 
trand was in the front of the storming party, and as 
they advanced he saw upon the walls one of the chief 
commanders of the garrison, a famous fighter called 
the Bascon de Mareuil, who had once tried to take 
him by surprise at Pontorson. 4 Brigand ! ’ he shouted, 
4 1 wish I could get at you. I swear that unless I’m 
smashed past cure. I’ll come and talk to you on the 
battlements ! ’ He planted a scaling-ladder against 


132 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 



the wall and mounted. The Dauphin, who was watching, 
asked his name. He was told that this was the famous 

Bertrand du Guesclin, 
who had fought so 
well for the Dauphin’s 
cousin, Charles of 
Blois. 4 What a brave 
fighter ! ’ said the 
Dauphin. 4 1 shall re- 
member him.’ Mean- 
time the Bascon was 
hurling rocks and in- 
sults at Bertrand. At 
last with a whole cask 
of stones he succeeded 
in overthrowing him, 
ladder and all. For 
a time Bertrand was 
stunned ; but when 
he came to, he had 
his armour buckled 
up, and as the gar- 
rison were making a 
sortie he fell upon 
them and drove them 
home again. 

After this the Dau- 
phin took him over 
fromTCharles of Blois 
for his own service, and set him to fight the 4 Free 
Companies ’« — bodies of mercenary troops on their 
own account, who fought for anyone that would pay 
them and lived by plundering everybody. Two of 


Du Guesclin thrown from the ladder 
by the cask of stones. 


COCKEREL AND AURAY 133 

these bands of brigands were commanded by English- 
men, Sir Robert Knollys and Sir Hugh Calverley. 
They were very dangerous fighters, and within twelve 
months both of them had the honour of capturing 
du Guesclin in small skirmishes. Calverley charged his 
ransom at 3000 crowns — a high, but expensive, com- 
pliment. The King of France, who also knew his 
value, furnished a large part of the money, and then 
granted him the Chateau du Roche -Tesson, which 
raised him to the rank of a knight-banneret. In the 
following year, 1363, Bertrand was married to Tiphaine 
Raguenel, the young lady who had prophesied his 
victory six years before. She was now thirty and he 
was forty-three. 

In April 1364 a sudden crisis came. King John of 
France died in captivity in London, and at exactly 
the same time his ally the King of Navarre went over 
to the English and sent an army to invade Normandy, 
The commander was a famous knight, Jean de Grailly, 
called the Captal de Buch, the same who had made 
the final attack on the French rear at Poitiers. The 
Bascon de Mareuil was with him, and the English 
contingent from the Free Companies was led by Sir 
John Jewel. On May 14 they started from a rendezvous 
near Evreux and moved on Pont de V Arche, intending 
to prevent du Guesclin, who was near Rouen, from 
crossing the Seine. But Bertrand was too quick for 
them ; he crossed before they could come up, and was 
now in a position to attack either Vernon on the Seine 
or Pacy on the Eure, or Evreux on the Iton ; for all 
three of these rivers run into one just above Pont de 
1’ Arche. 

On the 15th the two armies 7 faced one another 


134 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

within striking distance. The French lay across the 
angle where the Eure and Iton joined, the Navarrese 
and English in a much stronger position by the Eure. 
The Captal de Buch had chosen this spot because it 
was almost exactly like the Black Prince’s position 
at Poitiers, and if only he could get the French to 
attack him there he had no doubt that the result would 
be as good or better, for the two armies were much 
more equally matched. He also imitated the Prince 
in putting all his baggage out of sight, dividing his 
force into three divisions, and dismounting his men- 
at-arms, with the English archers in front. 

The French meanwhile held a council of war to 
choose a leader and plan their attack. The Comte 
d’Auxerre refused to command, and Bertrand was 
unanimously chosen. He instantly determined to make 
the Captal leave his position and fight elsewhere. In 
order to do this he moved forward a little and then 
quickly crossed the Eure by a bridge which led to the 
village of Cocherel. Beyond Cocherel he took up a 
good position and waited to be attacked instead of 
attacking. The Captal at first refused to fall into the 
trap, and Bertrand had to bait it more attractively. 
He ordered his baggage train to march away as if 
retreating, and pretended to be following himself. 
This was too much for Sir John Jewel ; he ran to the 
Captal : ‘ Sir, do you not see the French flying ? ’ ‘It 
is a ruse,’ said the Captal. But Jewel went off in 
pursuit, shouting, ‘ St. George ! Forward ! Follow 
me ! ’ The Captal had to make the best of it. He 
followed and made the worst of it. Du Guesclin had 
no sooner drawn him into the open than he came 
right-about-face and fell upon him with fury. Jewel 


COCHEREL AND AURAY 185 

was mortally wounded by Oliver de Mauny. Plantin, 
another English leader, was killed, and finally a company 
of du Guesclin’s Bretons got round the flank and fell 
upon the rear of the Navarrese. After two hours of 
hard fighting, the other English leader, Robert Chesnel, 
was taken, and all the Navarrese captains ; the Captal 
himself surrendered to Roland Bodin, a Breton squire. 

The Dauphin Charles, who was then on his way 
to be crowned, received the news of the victory just 
as he reached the gates of Reims. He sent for du 
Guesclin, took over his famous prisoner, and in return 
made him Marshal of Normandy and gave him the 
rich domain of Longueville with the title of Comte 
de Longueville. These honours came just in time to 
gladden the last days of Bertrand’s father. Sir Robert 
du Guesclin, who died a very short time afterwards. 
Bertrand and Oliver both reached La Motte de Broons 
in time to see him ; their mother had died four years 
earlier, and they were now the only two of all that big 
family surviving. 

Bertrand hurried back to the war. Cocherel was a 
brilliant victory, but it did not decide who was to be 
Duke of Brittany. There was a proposal for Charles de 
Blois and John de Montfort to share the duchy, each 
bearing the title, but it came to nothing ; and towards 
the end of September the two claimants, with their 
armies, were facing one another outside the town of 
Auray. Charles had the more troops and the better 
position : Montfort was the more eager to attack, 
but Chandos held him back. Du Guesclin took the 
same line with Charles, but was overruled. On Sunday, 
September 24 , the French came out in three divisions, 
one under Charles himself, a second under du Guesclin, 


136 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

and a third under the two Counts of Auxerre and 
Joigny. The Montfort army was also in three divisions : 
Sir Robert Knollys had the first, Sir Oliver de Clisson 
the second, and John de Montfort himself the third, 
with Chandos as second in command ; there was also 
a rearguard under Sir Hugh Calverley. 

At the last moment a French lord named Beau- 
manoir came once more to negotiate. Chandos replied : 
‘ Take my advice and come here no more : my men 
say they will kill you if they can catch you. Tell my 
lord of Blois that my lord of Montfort wants a fight 
and no treaties ; and he says he will be Duke of Brittany 
this day or die on the field.’ Charles de Blois accord- 
ingly led his division against Montfort’s, hoping to 
crush him by superior force. He nearly succeeded. 
Montfort’s banner was struck down by Sir Hugues 
d’Auxerre, called 6 the Green Knight ’ from his green 
armour, and the division was only saved by the support 
of Calverley ’s rearguard. In the meantime Auxerre 
had been wounded by Clisson, and a second charge 
by Calverley drove him off altogether. Chandos had 
attacked du Guesclin, who fought like an angry lion 
and struck down his enemies like dogs. But they were 
English dogs and stuck to him till they got him down. 
The Green Knight, Charles de Dinan, and La Houssoie 
got him to his feet again, and he fought on till he had 
lost most of his men and all his weapons ; then he 
surrendered to one of Chandos’ squires. Last of all 
the division of Charles de Blois was broken and pur- 
sued with great slaughter. Auxerre, du Guesclin, and 
Beaumanoir were among the prisoners, and the slain 
numbered 900 men-at-arms, including several great 
lords and Charles de Blois himself. He threw away 


THE END OF THE TWO CHAMPIONS 137 

his Duchy and his life when he refused the advice of 
Bertrand du Guesclin. John de Montfort was Duke 
of Brittany till his death. Bertrand was ransomed 
for one hundred thousand francs : he had gone up 
once more in the market of fame. 

5. The End of the two Champions 
A hundred thousand francs was too large a ransom 
for a private individual to pay ; but du Guesclin was 
now a soldier of public importance, and King Charles 
of France helped him to raise the money. He made, 
however, one condition : that Bertrand, when set free, 
should get all the Free Companies together and lead 
them somewhere out of France, where they were rapidly 
ruining the country. Bertrand called a meeting of 
the leaders of these brigands' — Sir Hugh Calverley, 
Robert Scot, Walter Hewet, Sir John Devereux, Mathew 
Gournay, the Green Knight, and others — and persuaded 
them to make an expedition with the King of Cyprus 
against the infidels. They were to march through 
Spain, and on the way the Pope was to give them absolu- 
tion ; the King of France was to supply 200,000 florins, 
and Spain was a very rich country, with abundance of 
wine. The freebooters liked the prospect : they agreed 
to go anywhere and fight anybody in the world except 
the Prince of Wales. They marched to Avignon, where 
the Pope, who was mortally afraid of them, gave them 
absolution and 200,000 francs for their journey. Then 
hearing of the death of the King of Cyprus, they took 
service with Henry of Trastamara, who was trying to 
depose his half-brother, Pedro King of Castile, known as 
Pedro the Cruel and universally detested. The Free 
Companies — commonly called 4 the White Company * 


138 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

from the white cross which they wore as uniform — 
captured some towns for Henry, and he in return made 
Bertrand Count of Borja. Then early in 1366 they 
drove King Don Pedro from Burgos, and Henry of Trast- 
amara was received as King. On Easter Sunday, when 
he was crowned, he made du Guesclin Count of Trasta- 
mara and Duke of Molina, and gave Sir Hugh Calverley 
the appropriate title of Count of Carrion. He then paid 
off and dismissed the other leaders with their companies. 

King Don Pedro now made an urgent appeal to the 
Black Prince for help in recovering his kingdom. The 
Prince consulted Sir John Chandos and Sir Thomas 
Felton, the two chiefs of his Council : he read the letter 
to them twice, and they looked at one another without 
speaking. It was a most difficult question. Pedro was 
a tyrant and a brute : on the other hand he was an ally 
of the King of England by treaty, and he was a lawful 
king, attacked by an illegitimate brother who had no 
kind of right to the throne. After long enquiries and 
consultations King Edward and his Council decided 
that the Prince might reasonably go to the assistance of 
a king seeking to recover his own heritage. Bertrand 
du Guesclin was raising troops in France for the other 
side, and the prospect of meeting him in the field must 
have strongly attracted the Prince ; in spite of his 
natural dislike for Pedro the Cruel he was evidently all 
for fighting. So Fate determined that these two should 
have their battle at last. 

The Prince received reinforcements from England 
under his brother, John of Gaunt, and in February 1367 
he crossed the Pyrenees by the famous pass of Ronce- 
vaux. Du Guesclin and d’Audrehem arrived about the 
same time from France. They strongly advised Henry 


THE END OF THE TWO CHAMPIONS 139 

of Trastamara to blockade the Prince and starve him 
into retreating, but on no account to fight him, for, said 
Audrehem, 4 1 say to you that when you meet the Prince 
in battle you will find with him men of arms who are 
the flower of chivalry of all the world, hardy, wise and 
brave combatants, who will die where they stand rather 
than leave the field.’ But Henry replied, 4 1 desire to see 
this Prince and prove myself against him. We cannot 
part without a battle.’ Then du Guesclin said, 4 Upon 
my faith, if we fight to-morrow I tell you truly we shall 
be defeated, and killed or taken.’ The next day the 
two armies met near the small deserted village of 
Navaretta, where the Black Prince had his headquarters. 
Don Henry’s were at the Palace of Najarra. Between 
them lay a plain and a low hill. 

The English, who had hardly anything to eat, were 
in a hurry to fight and have it over one way or the other. 
They advanced as the sun was rising and crossed the hill. 
At this point Sir John Chandos brought his banner to 
the Prince rolled up, and asked leave to raise it as a 
knight -banneret, for he had now land and heritage suffi- 
cient to maintain it. The Prince unrolled it and handed 
it back to him, saying, 4 Sir John, behold here your 
banner : God send you joy and honour thereof.’ Then 
Sir John took it to his Company and said, 4 Sirs, behold 
here my banner and yours : keep it as your own/ After 
this the English and Gascons dismounted ; the Prince 
said a prayer for victory, and gave the order 4 Advance, 
banners, in the name of God and St. George ! ’ 

The divisions of Chandos and Lancaster were the 
first in action against du Guesclin and Audrehem ; and 
this was the stubbornest fighting of the day. In the 
meantime the Prince routed the division of Don Tello on 


140 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

du Guesclin’s left, and leaving them to be finished off 
by Clisson and the Captal de Buch, he fell upon King 
Henry’s own troops. These, being Spaniards, were 
armed with slings, and did great execution with them, 
breaking many a bassinet and helm and striking down 
many a man ; but when they had made their cast and 
felt the sharp arrows of the English bowmen light 
among them, they could no longer keep their array. 
Du Guesclin was the real backbone of the battle : he 
led the attack again and again so fiercely that Chandos 
himself was thrown down in the mellay. A big Spaniard 
named Martin Ferrant fell on him ; but Chandos remem- 
bered a knife that he had in his bosom and drew it out 
and struck this Martin so in the back and sides that he 
wounded him to death. Then he rose and turned the 
tables on du Guesclin, whom he summoned to surrender. 
Bertrand refused, and fought on till he was almost alone ; 
then the Prince came up and sent him a second summons, 
to which he yielded. 

It is more than likely that the Prince did this on 
purpose, to make Bertrand his own prisoner, knowing 
what would follow. King Don Pedro, who was by his 
side, immediately asked that Audrehem and du Guesclin 
should be handed over to him. His idea of victory was 
to behead his enemies in cold blood. The Black Prince 
refused his demand and gave Bertrand into the safe- 
keeping of the Captal de Buch. Against the Marshal 
d’Audrehem he had a grievance of his own — the Marshal 
had not yet paid his ransom for his last capture ; and 
till it was paid, he was pledged not to fight against 
the Prince. He pleaded that this time he was fight- 
ing, not against the Prince but against King Don 
Pedro ; and a jury of knights (four English, four Breton 


THE END OF THE TWO CHAMPIONS 141 

and four Gascon) acquitted him. The Prince was much 
pleased at the verdict, and at once exchanged Audre- 
hem for Sir Thomas Felton. 



The Black Prince refuses to hand orer du Guesclin to Don Pedro. 


Pedro the Cruel was an insatiable brute. The Prince 
had made him promise that no knight, squire, or man of 
any rank, should be executed, except after a fair trial by 
the laws of chivalry. The day after the battle, the King 
rode up to a Spanish knight, Inigo Lopez, who was one of 




142 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

the prisoners, and killed him without a word, and with- 
out a chance. The Prince was furious ; and Pedro then 
asked to be allowed to take over all the captured knights 
and squires, on paying their captors the full ransoms • 
they were his enemies, and he meant to kill them all. 
The Prince, in return, advised him to govern by loyalty 
and not by frightfulness, or he might lose his allies and 
his kingdom. Pedro shortly afterwards imprisoned the 
Bishop of Braga in an underground dungeon. He also 
refused to pay the money he had promised to his allies. 
The Prince was more and more disgusted ; he and many 
of his army fell ill of dysentery and malaria, and after 
four months he went home in great depression. 

When he reached Aquitaine, Bertrand (who was still 
kept unransomed, until King Don Pedro should pay 
what he had promised) said one day to the Prince : ‘ Sir, 
it is said in the realm of France, and in other places, that 
ye fear me so much that ye dare not let me out of prison : 
the which to me is full great honour.’ The Prince was 
sharply touched by this, and offered to let him go free 
of any ransom, and give him 10,000 livres for an equip- 
ment, if he would swear not to bear arms again against 
England or Castile. Bertrand refused ; whereupon the 
Prince generously asked him to fix his own ransom. He 
immediately proposed 100,000 gold doubles, or about 
300,000 franks. 

The Prince, in astonishment, suggested one half this 
amount ; but Bertrand replied that his country would 
pay : ‘ There’s not a girl in France that knows how to 
spin, who would not work for the money till she saw me 
freed from your hands.’ He was more than right. Sir 
John Chandos immediately offered to lend him 10,000 
doubles. Sir Hugh Calverley offered him 30,000, and the 


THE END OF THE TWO CHAMPIONS 143 

Princess of Wales asked him to dinner and insisted on 
giving him 10,000 doubles. The Duke of Anjou lent 
him 30,000 franks, and the King and other great lords 
made up the remainder. On his way to Bordeaux to 
pay, he met in an inn a number of knights and squires 
on their way home, penniless and on foot, to get to- 
gether their own ransoms. Bertrand was practically 
penniless himself, but he could not bear to see his com- 
rades in such straits. He found out the amount of 
each man’s ransom and made his own treasurer pay 
them all, and enough besides to buy a good horse and 
arms. He could raise the money better than they 
could. 

Bertrand and the Black Prince never met again in 
battle. The Prince made one more campaign in France, 
but he was carried in a litter, wasting of the dysentery 
which never left him after his Spanish expedition. The 
English effort was spent too. Year by year the French 
steadily drove them from their territory, and du Guesclin, 
who was now Constable of France, had the greatest 
share in the work. The Prince had won the battle, but 
he won the game. His end was as romantic as his life. 
He was besieging the fortress of Chateauneuf de Randon, 
and De Roos, the English captain, had agreed to sur- 
render if not relieved by the King of England before a 
certain day. When that day came Bertrand was dead, 
and De Roos was summoned by the Marshal de Sancerre 
in his place. He replied that he had promised to sur- 
render, but only to the Constable du Guesclin, and to 
him, in token of the great honour he had always had 
for him, he would keep his word. At sunset, therefore, 
he came out with all his garrison, and marched to the 
tent of the dead Constable, whose body lay in state with 


144 GUESCLIN AND THE BLACK PRINCE 

the captains and heralds of France round the bed and at 
the foot of it his sword and mantle of fleurs-de-lis. De 
Roos then said : 6 It is to you, Sir Constable, that I give 
up my fortress ; you only could compel me to surrender 
it, after I had sworn to hold it for the King of England.’ 
He laid the keys at Bertrand’s feet, knelt in prayer, 
and went away weeping. 


NEWS FROM POITIERS, 1356 


The story from which the following passages are taken 
relates the experiences of Stephen Bulmer, a young 
Englishman of Colonial upbringing, who, though born 
in our own day and interested in the future rather 
than the past, finds himself, by a natural but unexpected 
transition, carried back to the England of the year 1356. 
Long travel has familiarised him with varieties of human 
speech and costume, and being a student of ideas rather 
than appearances, he is more struck by the similarity 
between the thought of the fourteenth and twentieth 
centuries than by the external and trivial differences 
which counted for so much in the books from which 
his knowledge of the past was derived. To accord with 
this bent of his mind, as well as with the convenience 
of the reader, the narrative and dialogue have been 
translated from the Latin and Anglo-French of the 
original authorities into language which aims at being 
a faithful transposition, and is in fact often a word-for- 
word rendering. The effect may be sometimes start- 
lingly modern ; but it is believed that no expression 
has been used which is not justified by documents, or 
which would be absurd or unintelligible to an English- 
man of the fourteenth century if it could be literally 
retranslated to him. The heroine’s name, Aubrey, 
inherited from her ancestresses Aubrey Marmion and 
145 l 


146 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

Albreda Warrenne, has been retained, though it is now 
unfamiliar as a feminine name. 

The Battle of Poitiers was fought on Monday, 
September 19, 1356. The account of it here given is 
drawn from the contemporary poem of the Chandos 
Herald, the ‘ Chronique Normande,’ Froissart’s 
‘ Chronicle,’ and the most valuable and little known 
Chronicon Galjridi Le Baker de Swynebroke , which has 
been followed throughout and supplemented by the 
other three where possible. The news was brought 
to Gardenleigh in Somerset on a Friday in October, by 
Harry Marland and Lord Bryan, who had been in the 
battle. 

That was a festal night. Stephen was astonished 
at the fervour and universality of the rejoicing ; he 
hardly recognised his staid and tongue-tied country- 
men. But there was in reality little cause for his 
surprise. No such news as this had come from over- 
sea since the great days of ’46, and even the memory 
of Cressy had long suffered eclipse beneath the black 
shadow of the pestilence. But now, for an hour, the 
age was young again, the nation one triumphant fellow- 
ship, the cost and strain of war forgiven, the Crown 
rejewelled by that Prince who was at once the friend 
of the Commons and the flower of the world’s chivalry. 
No wonder that the hills of England shouted together, 
as of old, with tongues of fire ; no wonder that here at 
Gardenleigh, as in a hundred other valleys, the old hall 
was crowded and gay that night with a revelry it had 
long forgotten. 

At the high table, Lady Marland and Sir Henry sat 
between the messengers of victory ; Harry Marland 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 147 

by his father, and Lord Bryan on his hostess’s right; 
Aubrey next, and Stephen by her, two of the five squires 
below them, the rest at the other end with the Rector, tall 
John Perrot, a saint with a soldier’s eye, who knew when 
feasting on a Friday was legitimate ; his turn would 
come to-morrow. The lower tables w£re filled to over- 
flowing by Lord Bryan’s men, quartered for the most 
part in Selwood, but for the evening safer here, among 
the well-disciplined household of the Marlands, than 
running loose through the pot-houses of the town. They 
were glad to be back, doubly glad to find themselves 
so far on their way westward ; and since they were all 
Devon men, with a becoming confidence, the sound of 
their speech came up the hall as pleasant and as free 
as the wind over the heather. At Sir Henry’s bidding 
they drank to the King, the Queen, and the Royal 
Family, with enthusiasm ; and to the Prince, with a 
roar that seemed intended to be heard across the Channel. 
Then the high table rose and left them to it. 

In the great gallery, wine and spices were waiting 
on two tables by the fire. The room was ablaze with 
light from end to end, and hung along the walls 
with fresh leafage of all the richest colours of autumn. 
Where the armoured figures stood in their grim un- 
bending rank there was a wreath on every helmet, 
and the nearest mailed hand gripped the tarnished and 
moth-eaten banner of Harry’s grandfather, the first 
Sir Henry, crowned with oak leaves and wound about 
the staff with bright new scarlet and silver. The fire, 
piled high with logs, gave out a clear and steady glow, 
that flashed on the silver cups and flagons, and was 
reflected again in the polished surface of the tables 
on which they stood. 


148 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

The soldiers all exclaimed with admiration as they 
entered the room ; it was many months since they had 
seen such comfort, and here there was an added touch 
of stateliness, the more impressive because it told, not 
of effort or ostentation, but of ancestral wealth and the 
unconscious ease of a country long untouched by the 
havoc of war. 

4 That was a gay scene downstairs,’ said Lord Bryan, 
as he handed Lady Marland to the high-backed chair 
by the fireside. 

4 Was it not terrible ? ’ she replied in her shrill little 
voice. ‘ It was all I could do to hear myself speak.’ 

4 I heard you quite well, my dear,’ said her husband 
gravely, with a gleam behind the gravity. Among 
the younger squires there was some danger of a lapse 
from decorum ; but it passed off, fortunately without 
attracting Lady Marland’s attention. 

4 1 did my best,’ she replied, with plaintive dignity, 
4 but I am sure I have strained my throat.’ 

Aubrey settled herself at her aunt’s feet. 4 Never 
mind, dearest,’ she said, 4 we need not do any more 
talking now ; Guy is going to tell us all about the battle.’ 

Lord Bryan smiled and poured out wine. 4 All about 
the battle is a long story,’ he said, 4 and more than I 
really know. Harry saw it from beginning to end better 
than I did ; if he will be chronicler, I will do my best 
to help him out here and there.’ 

4 Well,’ said Harry cheerfully, 4 where am I to begin ? 
You know we started on the ninth of August and drew 
covert after covert for more than a month before we 
found anything like a warrantable deer. I can’t go 
through all that now — it would take much too long. It 
ended at last in our coming on the whole herd at once — 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 149 

they were seven or eight times as many as we were — 
and we got them safely harboured in Poitiers on a 
Saturday night. We slept, ourselves, in a wood of the 
abbey of Nouaille, and began to lay the pack on first 
thing in the morning. They were tired of all this casting 



Harry Marland describes the battle of Poitiers to his family. 


about, and just mad for a kill. But we had all for- 
gotten what a wily quarry we were after. At the very 
moment when we thought he was going to show sport, 
what should we see but a great Cardinal — one of these 
professional arbitration-mongers — trotting towards us 
as calmly as if he had been coming to pay a friendly call. 
He talked a great deal about the wickedness of shedding 


150 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

Christian blood, and wasted the whole day for us by 
running backwards and forwards between the two lines, 
carrying the most impossible proposals from one to 
the other. It was rather too bad, considering that the 
skirmishing had already begun before he started, and 
our men and theirs had watered their horses at the same 
stream that morning and promised each other any 
amount of broken heads. But the Frenchmen did not 
fool the Prince as completely as they thought ; they 
got up a lot of reinforcements during the day, and our 
fellows grumbled a good deal as they saw the banners 
coming in ; but we had a good rest and did some useful 
scouting. In the evening the negotiations were broken 
off, as every one knew they would be, and we moved 
away a little to avoid any chance of a surprise. They 
were fifty thousand odd — eighty- seven banners — and 
we were a bare seven thousand ; in a night attack they 
would have gone right over us like a harrow over a 
toad. 

4 At breakfast-time next morning — would you believe 
it ? — there was the Cardinal again. We really rather 
admired the fellow’s obstinacy ; but we had no idea 
of losing another good day ; so this time we sent him 
off home at once, with a cheer to show that there was 
no ill-feeling. You ought to be pleased with us for that, 
mother.’ 

‘ My dear ! ’ replied Lady Marland, ‘ I am always 
pleased when you behave properly to the clergy ; I 
have no doubt that the Cardinal is a very good man.’ 

‘ Oh ! is he ? ’ said Harry, with a nod to his father. 
4 I will come to that a little later on. I w T ant you now 
to understand exactly the position we were in. For 
a straight fight, according to the rules, we were not so 



The Cardinal of Perigord comes to the English camp to negotiate with the Black Prince. 





NEWS FROM POITIERS 151 

badly off as the figures would appear to show. We had 
four thousand men of arms to their eight ; the rest 
of their big battalion were sure to be very unsteady, 
and they had practically no marksmen to set against 
our archers — two thousand archers we had. On a 
fairly narrow front, with no open flanks, we might very 
well hold our own if we could only manage to get our 
huge baggage-train into leaguer. Now just across the 
river, which lay on our right, the Prince had marked 
a piece of ground that was almost exactly what we 
wanted — a big field, or rather an enclosed hill, with 
a good hedge and ditch all round it ; and what was 
better still, that part of the hedge which was to be our 
front line, ran down on the left into a piece of marshy 
ground by the river, which was practically impossible 
for cavalry. Some of the enemy were supposed to be 
already down under the front of the hill, but the higher 
part that we were to occupy first had a lot of bushes 
and brambles on it, and that would give us good cover ; 
and besides, we should have the advantage of the 
ground. The top of the hill was rough pasture ; on 
the south and west face there were vines, where we 
meant to clamber up, and the remainder of the field — 
that is, the whole of the north and eastern slope down 
to the hedge — was stubble and green crops, and so 
was the ground beyond, on the French side of the 
fence. 

‘ The first thing to do was to get across the river, 
which lies very awkwardly in a deep bed. There was 
a ford, happily just narrow enough to be practicable, 
and over we went in a scramble, Warwick first, with 
the van ; then the Prince’s division with the wagons. 
Salisbury had the rear-guard, and he came flying over 


152 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

and got into position on Warwick’s right rear before 
our division had half finished leaguering in the marsh ; 
but some of us, the men of arms, had gone on up to 
the top of the hill with the Prince himself. There he 
kept us, in reserve, as it turned out ; and that is how 
I came to see the whole show so well.’ 

1 Where were you, Guy ? ’ asked Aubrey. 

‘ In the same place,’ Lord Bryan replied, c but I 
was in the first line of reserve, which was used up much 
earlier. It was the last four hundred — Harry and his 
friends — that really did the business.’ 

‘ Don’t listen to him,’ said Harry. 1 I’m telling 
you the whole thing just as it happened, and you must 
attend to me. What I want you to see now is this : 
Warwick with fifteen hundred men of arms, lining 
out beyond the hedge on the slope where it began to 
run down into the marsh, in touch with our fellows in 
leaguer at the bottom. On his flanks he had a thousand 
archers ; they stood mostly outside the hedge, on the 
bank above the ditch, but some were in among the 
vines, and those lowest down were right in the marsh. 
Down on the more level ground in front, where it was 
dry enough, Warwick’s young bloods were trying to 
get up a little tournament with some of the French 
cavalry, who were beginning to advance in two lots, 
under the Marshals Clermont and Audrehem. By 
the way, they had been quarrelling, those two, and they 
came in too quick, without waiting for their supports. 
It appears that when the Prince began to cross, and his 
banner was moved about and finally went out of sight 
in the dip, one of them said we were evidently retreating^ 
and the other sneered at him ; so they raced each other 
into action and spoiled the timing of the whole attack. 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 153 

While Clermont was skirmishing, Audrehem halted a 
moment to watch ; Clermont seized the opportunity 
to make a dash for a big gap in the fence some way up 
beyond Warwick’s right. It was a good move, because, 
if he had got in, he would have taken the whole first 
division in flank. But he reckoned without Salisbury, 
whom he probably could not see. 

‘ When he reached the part of the hedge where the 
gap was — it was a really big gap, a cart-track wide 
enough for four horses abreast — he found Salisbury 
there already ; he had moved forward on his own 
account, and had his archers very neatly drawn up in 
open order, with a second rank closing the intervals, 
and his men of arms in line behind them. So the rear- 
guard, to their huge delight, were in action first after 
all.’ 

c In fact,’ said Sir Henry, 4 they had given themselves 
leave not to be a rear-guard at all. What did the Prince 
say to that ? ’ 

6 Well, he saw that Salisbury really had no choice 
in the circumstances ; but of course he looked black, 
because it just doubled his fighting line and halved his 
reinforcements. What he did was to make his own 
division into two reserves, as Guy has told you. Even 
so, if we had had to meet four successive attacks, as 
the French intended, we might have been done ; but 
happily Orleans never toed the line at all and we just 
lasted out.’ 

4 Now come back to the Marshals,’ said Sir Henry. 

4 The Marshals got to close quarters in much better 
order than we liked ; the shooting of Warwick’s men 
straight in their faces seemed to produce very little 
effect upon them ; so the Prince sent Oxford down in 


154 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

a hurry to advance the archers oh the left. By George ! 
you never saw such a change in five minutes : those 
fellows ran out without any cover, and smote the French 
cavalry on their right flank and rear with a perfect 
hail-storm. Some of the horses looked like hedgehogs ; 
all of them went down or bolted, and Warwick did what 
he liked with the few who had got through the hedge. 
Then the archers came back to their place in regular 
marching order, as cool and quiet as if they had been 
out to the butts. Meanwhile Salisbury had done 
equally well on the right, so there was an end of the 
Marshals and their quarrel ; Clermont was dead, and 
Audrehem a prisoner. 

1 Nothing in the way of a pursuit was allowed ; 
Normandy’s division was already advancing ; they 
were too late to support, so they made a separate attack 
of it. There were a great lot of them, and they had 
a good stiffening of men of arms, but fortunately no 
artillery. Still it looked like a long and tough business, 
and the Prince sent down the larger half of his reserve 
into the fighting line to enable Warwick to extend 
towards Salisbury, This time the archers seemed to 
be out of it ; there were no horses for them to stick, 
and they used up all their arrows on steel plates that 
were too good for them. It was a ding-dong fight ; 
our fellows had begun by standing outside the hedge 
this time — I suppose they wanted to get their backs 
up against something — but the Frenchmen pushed them 
home again with an ugly rush and began to follow 
through the fence. Then some archers of our division, 
including Guy’s little lot of Devon men, who had finished 
their work down among the baggage, came at a grand 
run right up the wagon side of the hill and over the 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 155 

top and down on to the thick of the mellay outside the 
hedge. There they stood and shot at point-blank range, 



The English archers and French men-at-arms. 


and that soon settled the business. Then came the 
greatest stroke of luck we had. When our fellows had 
once shifted the French, they kept them moving so 



156 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

briskly that they ran them right into Orleans’ men 
behind, and the greater part of both divisions went off 
the field together towards Chauvigny. Those of them 
who did not bolt went back and joined the King’s own 
division ; they must have been good men to come 
again after such a shaking, but they got nothing by it 
—-it was not their day.’ 

‘ Oh ! don’t say that,’ said Aubrey gently, 6 it 
was their best day.’ 

‘ It was certainly their last,’ replied Harry, with 
satisfaction. 

6 My boy,’ said his father, 6 you have every right 
to triumph, but what were you feeling like yourselves 
about that time ? ’ 

Harry reddened. ‘ I did not mean to be brutal,’ 
he said, 6 and we certainly were not thinking lightly 
of them just then. Our front was a dreadful sight, the 
wounded were being dragged hastily under cover, and 
there were not half enough men to do the work properly ; 
for we had hardly a man left standing in the line who 
was not either wounded himself or dead beat with 
fatigue ; and then there was such a shortage of arrows 
that the archers were all over the field collecting what 
they could — even pulling them out of dying men, I 
heard ; it was no time for squeamishness. Mercifully 
the French King was so long in getting under way 
that things were straightened out at last, and the men 
got their breath a little ; but there was no doubt that 
they did not like the look of the weather, and some of 
them raised a scare that the Captal de Buch had gone 
home. He had certainly disappeared, with all his 
command — fifty or sixty men of arms and a good 
hundred archers, but he was the last man in the world 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 157 

to go before the end, and he proved it once for all. 
While we were refitting he was marching back, clean 
round the hill we were on, and out to the right, so as to 
fall on the left rear of the French when the pinch came. 
Meanwhile the Prince ordered us down at last — the only 
four hundred sh men he had — got the whole line out 
into the open, with us in the centre, and called out 
to Walter Woodland to “ advance banner.” Then the 
French made their final mistake. When they saw us 
on the move, with the lilies and lions overhead, and 
all our trumpets sounding the charge, they started right 
off towards us at the double as if they meant to roll 
over us like a huge wave. Of course, when they got 
up, they were in rather ragged order and quite blown ; 
still the shock was tremendous and our line reeled from 
one end to the other. But the Prince was not going 
to lose his best fight if hard hitting would save it. We 
could see the Captal by this time ; he was flying a big 
St. George’s ensign to warn us not to mistake him, 
and quite right too, for he came absolutely straight in 
upon the French rear, in the very track they had just 
trampled. Then the Prince knew he had them between 
the crackers. They were a big nut and a hard one ; but 
he kept shouting to us “ Forward ! Forward ! ”, and 
laying on himself like ten men threshing, till he got the 
rush to a standstill, and we felt that we were holding 
them. At that moment, in the nick of time, the Captal’s 
archers began to let fly ; ours had already spent their 
shot and were joining in with swords and sticks and 
anything else they could pick up — even stones. But 
those hundred fellows had every one of them a full 
quiver and a fair target — ten thousand backs at thirty 
yards ! There were more than twenty companies in 


158 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

that division ; well — they were hopelessly clubbed 
almost before we knew what was happening ; but we 
soon saw they were hurting each other more than us, 
and when the banners began dropping one by one we 
knew that we really had them at last. It was more 
like reaping than fighting — they were standing so thick 
that they could not hit out at us, and we cut them down 
in swathes all along the line, while the Prince and 
Chandos and Cobham went deeper and deeper in, trying 
to reach the King himself. He was easy to see, because 
he was down below us and on a bit of a mound, and had 
Chargny by him with his banner ; but to get near him 
was a very different matter, because of the mob of 
hungry fellows who wanted him alive because of his 
ransom. He kept them off with quick dangerous 
strokes, just like a stag at bay, and whenever any of 
them tried to get at him from one side or the other his 
young son Philip called out “ Right, father ! left ! 
right ! ” At last Chargny went down with the banner 
in his hands, and the King saw that it was time to 
cry “ Enough ! ” After all, he had done uncommonly 
well ; it is not often that a King gets such a taste of 
the real thing ; and if his men had all put as much 
good-will into it as he did, we should probably not be 
here now.’ 

6 Who took him in the end ? ’ asked the Rector. 

‘ Oh ! a Gascon, of course,’ replied Harry, with a 
short laugh. 

6 And how much did he get for him ? 9 

‘No one knows exactly. You see a dozen fellows 
claimed the prize, but the Prince said he would hear 
all their claims when he got home; but the King 
had given this Morbecque his glove and asked his 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 159 

name, so it was really a clear case, and Morbecque, 
when we came away, had already been promoted 
and had an enormous sum given him on account, 
to keep up his position. The position of a Gascon 
adventurer ! ’ 

Lord Bryan laughed. 4 Cheer up, Harry ! 5 he said. 

4 You and I ought to be thankful we don’t need 
the money, for after all he was forty yards in front 
of us.’ 

4 Besides,’ said Aubrey, 4 1 dare say it was less 
humiliating for the King to surrender to a Frenchman.’ 

Lord Bryan ceased to smile. 4 1 assure you,’ he 
said, in a quiet tone that seemed to change the whole 
key of the conversation, 4 that if he thought so he 
was never more mistaken. No matter who took his 
glove, it was to Edward Prince of Wales that he 
surrendered.’ 

There was no pride in his voice, but so much in the 
words that everyone was silent. 

4 Let me tell you,’ he continued, 4 what happened 
the first evening. When supper was ready, the Prince 
brought the King into his tent and placed him at a 
high table with Prince Philip and seven others of the 
highest degree among those we had taken unhurt. The 
rest of the prisoners of rank were arranged at other 
tables, with Chandos and Cobham and many more of 
our own people among them. Everything was done 
so well, and with so much ceremony, that it was more 
like supping in the pavilion after a tournament at 
Windsor than in a tent hastily pitched on the field of 
battle. At the high table an English knight stood 
behind the chair of every guest, and when the French 
King had taken his seat two trumpeters sounded for 


160 NEWS FROM POITIERS 


the service to begin. The King looked about him in 
surprise, and asked where his host was to sit. When 
no one answered, he turned round ; the Prince was 



Edward the Black Prince waits on his prisoner the King of France. 


there beside him on one knee, offermg'prim water for 
his hands in a silver basin/ 

The words fell deliberately one by one from the 
speaker, asl’if he knew that he had no need to repeat 
a single stroke ; he had drawn the picture as he had 
intended and it must convince. 




NEWS FROM POITIERS 161 

‘ What did the King say then ? 5 asked Aubrey 
eagerly. 

‘ I could not hear, but I saw that he was remonstra- 
ting, and the Sire de Bourbon rose from his seat on the 
King’s left to give up his place to the Prince. But the 
Prince remained kneeling, and there was a sudden 
hush all through the tent so that we could hear every 
word that followed. The Prince said that he was not 
worthy to sit at table with so great a King. The King 
replied, with a bitter little smile, that the day’s work 
was a sufficient answer to that. But the Prince said 
very earnestly, “ Sir, I beg you will not take it so hard 
that the fortune of war has gone against you. Let me 
assure you that you will meet with so much honour 
and kindness at my father’s hands that you will re- 
member to-day only as the beginning of your friendship 
with him.” That was enough ; I saw the King’s face 
change. He looked straight at the Prince for one 
moment ; then dipped both his hands in the bowl 
without another word. 

‘ After that every one’s tongue was loosed again, 
and even the French were loud in the Prince’s praise. 
The one who w’as sitting next me — he was a very fine 
courtly old gentleman — seemed to be much moved ; 
he said to me, “ Sir, your Prince is like to prove a great 
King,” to which I replied, “ Yes, if God send him life 
and a continuance of such good fortune.” He turned 
quickly away, and to my great surprise I saw he was 
in tears. Presently he recovered himself and said, 
‘‘ You do well not to make too sure ; I made too sure.” 
His own son was a very promising young captain, of 
much about the Prince’s age, and he had been killed 
with Clermont in the morning. 


M 


162 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

4 Poor fellow,’ said Sir Henry in a low voice, and he 
went on murmuring to himself in a tone of deep feeling. 
c Poor fellow, poor fellow ! ’ 

Everyone knew that he was thinking of his own lost 
boys, but no one knew what to say ; there was a moment 
of embarrassed silence, and then the squires rose to bid 
their hostesses good night. They had to get the archers 
away to their quarters before it was too late ; the 
Rector took his leave at the same time, and when they 
had gone Lady Marland went downstairs herself to 
recall the household to discipline and give her orders 
for the morning. Aubrey she left behind to look after 
Sir Henry ; besides, while anything remained to be 
told of the victory, it would have been impossible to 
tear her away from the hearing of it. 

The five who remained re-grouped themselves more 
closely round the hearth. Aubrey moved Lord Bryan 
into the seat her aunt had just left, and took his place 
by Sir Henry, who was still musing with his eyebrows 
lifted wearily and his eyes cast down upon the floor. 
Stephen sat on his other* side, and Harry stood in front 
of the fire cracking walnuts, with the air of one who is 
biding his time. He was silent during the moment or 
two of coming and going at the door ; when it finally 
closed behind Lady Marland and the Rector, he looked 
up and said to his father, 4 Now that the clerical party 
have left us, perhaps you would like to hear the rest of 
that good man, the Cardinal ? ’ 

4 Eh ? ’ said Sir Henry, rousing himself. 4 What 
was that, Harry ? I forget.’ 

4 It was nothing very much, but it pleased some of 
us a good deal. I told you how the Cardinal of Perigord 
wasted a whole day of our time in expounding to us 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 


163 


the doctrine of the Church on the wickedness of war 
and rebuking us for wanting to fight ; well — after all 
that, and after posing as the impartial friend of both 
sides, what do you suppose the old red fox did ? He 
went off to Poitiers himself, as sorrowful and as sancti- 
monious as you please, but he left all his own people, 
except his chaplains and secretary, to do their best 
against us, fighting in the King’s division. Half of 
them were under his own nephew. Sir Robert de Duras ; 
and the rest with his underling, the Castellan of 
Amposta. When the final smash came, the Castellan 
was one of the first prisoners brought in ; the Prince 
was naturally furious to see him there, and ordered him 
to be beheaded on the spot. While they were hunting 
for the provost-marshal and a log, the wretched Castellan 
tried to beg off. “ No, no ! ” the Prince said. “ People 
employed by the Church, who come and go in treaty 
for peace, ought not in reason to bear arms or to fight 
on either side ; and if they do, they must pay forfeit 
like any other felons.” But then Chandos reminded 
him that he would have plenty of time later, and just 
now there were many other things of more importance 
to think of. So he went on and left the Castellan, for he 
never can say “ No ” to Chandos ; but they had not 
gone a hundred yards further when they came on Sir 
Robert de Duras himself lying dead under some trees. 
The fellow had even had the bare-faced impudence to 
take his banner into action ; and there it was, lying 
by him with a dozen of his men, all as dead as their 
master. 

‘ “ Here, at any rate, is something for the Cardinal,” 
says the Prince grimly. “ There is nothing to wait 
for this time, I think, Chandos ! ” and he made them 


164 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

take up Duras’ body just as it was, and carry it into 



The Black Prince finds the body of Robert de Duras on the 
field of battle. 


Poitiers to the Cardinal on a shield with this message, 
“ The Prince of Wales’s thanks to the Cardinal of 




NEWS FROM POITIERS 165 

Perigord for his courteous and Christian endeavours, 
and he salutes him by this token.” ’ 

There was a moment’s silence ; the hearers were 
evidently all impressed by the story, but no two of them 
in quite the same way. 

‘ Well, father,’ said Harry presently, ‘ what do 
you think of that ? ’ 

Sir Henry answered one half the question only. 
‘ There can be no doubt,’ he said, 4 that the Churchmen 
were entirely in the wrong ! ’ 

‘Yes,’ said Aubrey, ‘ the Prince was right there ; 
but I cannot help wishing he had not sent that message ; 
it seems to me somehow to be inconsistent with his 
behaviour to the King — that was splendid.’ 

‘ Oh,’ replied Harry, in a tone of disappointment 
and remonstrance, ‘ if you are going to talk of in- 
consistency, we are all inconsistent at times; and the 
Prince, after all, is a man like the rest of us.’ 

‘I am glad to hear you say that,’ said Stephen, 

‘ because from what I have heard he seems to be even 
more interesting as a character than as a commander ; 
and I have been wondering whether I might ask some 
questions about him without offence.’ 

‘ Ask away,’ replied Harry, with unmeasured con- 
fidence ; ‘ if you get one shot home you’ve a keen eye.’ 

Lord Bryan, who had been listening to the con- 
versation in silence, with his eyes fixed upon the red 
glow of the crumbling logs, now turned slowly in his 
big chair, so as to face the speakers. Stephen saw the 
movement, and was embarrassed by it ; but it was 
not in his nature to shrink from any argument against 
any odds. Besides, he had been longing all the evening 
for an opportunity to talk with this distinguished soldier 


166 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

and diplomatist, who at thirty-seven had already fought 
in three great wars, held two governorships, and kept 
the Great Seal of England ; and who carried himself 
with an unconscious air of greatness that seemed to leave 
his friend and contemporary, Harry Marland, half a 
lifetime behind him. 

4 What I mean,’ Stephen said, 4 is this. I feel, as 
Aubrey does — only I feel it in more ways than one — 
that there is an inconsistency in the Prince’s behaviour 
and ideas. His chief characteristics seem to clash with 
each other, and I cannot help wondering whether 
this is because some of them are the man himself, and 
some only put on, or at any rate less real than others. 
I am not criticising, you understand, I am only enquiring. 
His most undoubtedly genuine feeling, I suppose, is his 
love of fighting ? ’ 

4 Right ! ’ replied Harry, with warm approval, 4 |there 
is nothing put on there.’ 

4 Then he seems also to have a great love of 
pageantry, a sort of romantic feeling for the sound and 
colour and fame of war.’ 

4 Well ? We all have, haven’t we ? ’ 

4 Possibly,’ said Stephen, 4 but some of us wish we 
had not. The Prince himself, when the fighting is 
over, and he has got the best of it, professes a totally 
different creed ; he puts courage and pride away and 
brings out a most elaborate courtesy and humility in 
their place. Are they equally part of the man him- 
self ? ’ 

4 Yes ! ’ replied Harry defiantly. 

4 No,’ said Lord Bryan at the same instant, in a 
quiet tone full of meaning. 

Stephen looked from one to the other. 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 167 

‘ Not equally,’ Lord Bryan explained, 4 they are 
the man himself ; the most real thing about him. You 
hardly believe that ? Let me tell you one more saying 
of his, the most significant of all. When the French 
King was first brought to him he offered, quite 
naturally and simply, to help him off with his armour. 
The King said, with great dignity, “ Thank you. Cousin, 
but after this it is not for you to serve me ; no Prince 
has ever won such honour in a single day.” The 
Prince was touched to the quick, he cannot bear that 
his honour should be another’s misfortune. He said, 
in a very low voice, “ God forgive me this victory ! ” 
The King evidently did not understand ; he did not 
know the man, but I think I may claim that I do, and 
I say that he was never more himself than at that 
moment.’ 

4 So do I,’ cried Aubrey passionately, 4 and so do 
you, Stephen ; you know that was not acting, you 
know that no one could ever have invented anything 
so beautiful.’ 

Stephen felt himself flush ; for a moment it was as 
though the warm current from her heart was beating 
through his own veins. 4 1 agree,’ he said, 4 that was 
fine, and it was certainly instinctive. He seems to be 
made up of impulses ; but that only increases the 
difficulty. Is it not extraordinary that the same man 
should make such a reply to one of his defeated prisoners, 
and order off another to be executed in cold blood ? ’ 

4 That is what I felt,’ she replied, 4 but I suppose, 
as Harry says, that when we act on impulse we are 
often inconsistent. What do you say, Guy ? ’ 

4 You have not got to the bottom of it yet, I think,’ 
said Lord Bryan. 4 The Prince is impulsive by nature. 


168 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

but he is no longer the boy he was at Cressy. He has 
thought things out, and though his actions are still 
instinctive they are very far from being haphazard or 
inconsistent. I do not say that he is perfect. I think 
he went over the line when he sent that message to 
the Cardinal ; but you must remember that he was 
doubly tempted — first, because one of his most cherished 
principles had been violated ; and secondly, because the 
offender was his old antagonist, the Church.’ 

4 What ? ’ cried Stephen, 4 his antagonist ? That 
makes him a more splendid riddle than ever ; I had 
always thought of him as unusually devout.’ 

4 So he is,’ replied Lord Bryan ; 4 if any man was 
ever born a Christian, he was. But on the point of 
war, he no more accepts the Church’s view of Christianity 
than you do, or I, or any other Englishman who is 
honest with himself. He does not believe that war is 
always unlawful ; he knows that all existence is a 
struggle, that we love fighting because it is the savour 
of life itself, and that in this world Of forces everything 
must depend on force in the last resort. The time of 
peace may come, and no one prays for it more sincerely ; 
but it will be the time of perfection, and in the mean- 
time right must be righted and wrong ended.’ 

4 Every nation,’ said Stephen, 4 being of course right 
in its own view. Does not that bring you to arbitration 
between communities, just as we have justice now 
between man and man ? ’ 

He feared he had spoken too keenly ; but Lord 
Bryan parried the thrust with unruffled ease. 

4 Who is to be the arbitrator ? The Church, of course. 
Let us forget the Cardinal of Perigord, and grant the 
impartiality of the Church. How is the judgment to 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 169 

be enforced ? Would you excommunicate a whole 
nation ? 5 

4 I agree that the Church is out of the question,’ 
replied Stephen, c but a jury of kings would have 
power to carry out their own decrees.’ 

4 That means no more than an alliance of the ayes 
against the noes ; or, possibly, of all against one. But 
I cannot help thinking that there are points on which 
a nation would rather fight the whole world single- 
handed than obey. Then I wonder whether your jury 
of kings would be always right and always disinterested. 
May there not be cases too difficult for any judge ? If 
Solomon himself were here, he could not fail to give 
a decision in favour of King Edward’s claim to the 
crown of France ; but if you and I were Frenchmen, 
should we submit to it ? ’ 

4 The Prince would not, I am sure,’ said Stephen, 
smiling. 4 But he would be acting merely as the 
natural man. How does he bring war within the law 
of Christianity ? ’ 

4 1 think he would answer that by saying that 
Christianity is not a law, but a light ; a hope for the 
world, but a way for the Christian only, who is not of 
the world, though he is in it. It is a hypocrisy to 
pretend that the world is Christian. What good can 
come of hypocrisy? — of nations professing principles 
in which, as nations, they do not believe ? The true 
Church, which is the body of the faithful and nothing 
else, cannot be strengthened by any such professions ; 
the official Church encourages them because it thereby 
enlarges its own borders, but it brings both confusion 
and dishonesty into human affairs by doing so.’ 

The argument pleased Stephen as much as it puzzled 


170 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

him. 4 I agree about the Church,’ he said warmly, 4 but 
I am still in the dark about the Prince. Is it his creed 
that a man should be a Christian in private and a savage 
in public ? ’ 

4 Savage is a difficult word,’ said Lord Bryan 
pleasantly ; 4 may I change it ? May I put the case 
in this way ? There are among men some masculine 
virtues, and some feminine. Where the masculine 
alone have been cultivated, life has been disordered, 
perhaps savage. Christianity has given us the feminine 
virtues. The Church would have us practise them to 
the exclusion of the masculine ; we soldiers believe that 
this would only lead to disorder of the same kind.’ 

4 You make Christianity, in short, a counsel of per- 
fection, to be postponed indefinitely ? ’ 

4 We should do so but for Chivalry.’ 

4 Let me understand you,’ said Stephen. 4 Chivalry, 
as I have seen it from a distance, I have taken to mean 
a love of fighting, a love of pageantry, and a fantastic 
love of women, mixed into a rather unwholesome 
ferment.’ 

4 You have lived abroad,’ replied Lord Bryan ; 
4 there is no place in England for that kind of folly, 
and so far as I know there never has been. For us, 
Chivalry is a plain rule of conduct, by which a man may 
live in the world of men, without savagery and without 
monkery.’ 

4 Good ! ’ exclaimed Stephen, ‘ but how ? ’ 

4 Look at the Prince,’ said Lord Bryan, 4 it is written 
large in him. He is pious and courteous, the brother 
of all brave men, the servant of the weak, the beaten 
and the suffering. In short, he loves God with all his 
heart, and his neighbour as himself. What is that ? ’ 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 171 

* That is Christianity ; but I ask you again, how 
does loving your neighbour come to include fighting 
him or taking his life ? ’ 

‘ I reply with another question. Are you not con- 
fusing the unreal with the real — putting the material 
before the spiritual ? The warfare of every one of us 
must end in death ; we need not love a man less because 
it falls to us to strike the final stroke. It is only the 
hatred, the treachery, the selfishness, that make the 
crime of murder ; and what injury can the real man 
suffer except those inflicted by himself ? ’ 

4 Does your Prince act up to his creed in that ? ’ 
asked Stephen. 4 I know, of course, that he is fearless 
for himself ; but would he, for example, take the death 
of a friend as no injury ? 9 

4 A man is no soldier,’ replied Lord Bryan, 4 unless 
he remembers every morning, when he wakes, that this 
may be the day on which his life, or his comrade’s, will 
be required of him. No one could face that parting 
better than the Prince. I know, because I saw him 
say good-bye to Audley.’ 

4 Audley ? ’ asked Sir Henry. 4 Is James Audley 
dead ? You did not tell us that.’ 

4 No,’ said Guy. 4 When I left he was making a 
good recovery, but if he did not die, it was not because 
he was not ready. When we were setting forward to 
meet the final attack, he came to the Prince and volun- 
teered to do what he could to break the French line 
before it reached us. I suppose his offer might be 
called fantastic ; but it was very coolly made and very 
effectually carried out.’ 

4 Tell us ! ’ said Aubrey imperiously. 

4 There is really nothing to tell. He came up and 


172 NEWS FROM POITIERS 

said : “ You know, Sir, I vowed that I would lead the 
charge if ever we met the French King.” He knelt 
on one knee, as if to ask a favour. The Prince’s face 
set like iron. “ Very well, James,” he said, “ good-bye ; 
and God bless you.” There was no time to lose ; 
Audley got up and went down the hill with his four 
squires behind him ; we saw him divide the rush for a 
moment like a rock thrown down into a stream ; then 
they re-formed and went over him, but they came on 
perceptibly slower and less steadily.’ 

4 How many were killed ? ’ asked Aubrey. 

‘ Of Audley and his men ? Not one of the five, by 
George ! ’ cried Harry. 4 The squires picked him up, 
good men, and we picked up the squires. They made 
their fortunes — Audley divided between them all the 
land the Prince gave him, that same evening.’ 

‘ Did the Prince approve of that ? ’ 

* He gave Audley as much again, and was glad to 
do it. I think he was more grateful to those four men 
than even their master was ; he loves Sir James better 
than any reasonable man could love himself.’ 

4 It is a fine character,’ said Stephen. 4 Still,’ he 
went on, in the tone of one not yet convinced, 4 it is 
strange to see so much feeling side by side with so much 
hardness.’ 

4 Pardon me,’ answered Lord Bryan, 4 if I change 
your word again. He is not so much hard as stern. 
Injure him personally, and he will give you good for 
evil ; break a rule of the game and he will exact the 
forfeit to the uttermost, as he would expect to have 
exacted from himself. It is only on such terms that the 
code can be preserved ; you may forgive the offender, 
but, if you remit the penalty, you spare your own feelings 


NEWS FROM POITIERS 173 

at the expense of those who come after you. So he 
would have made an example of the Castellan of Am- 
posta, as he always would of anyone who played false 
* — man, woman, or child. If a whole town went over 
to the enemy, I believe he would execute them all relent- 
lessly. His people know the conditions on which they 
serve him ; they know that he asks nothing from them 
that he is not prepared to give himself.’ 

‘ You think they really understand him ? ’ said 
Stephen. 

‘ Whether they know it or not, they understand 
him ; you would not wonder if you had heard him 
speaking to the men on the morning of the battle. “ It 
is our business,” he said, “ to lead, and yours to follow 
keenly, mind as well as body ; if we come off with life 
and victory, we shall be better friends than ever ; if 
the chances are against us and we go the way of all 
flesh, remember this, that you shall never be forgotten 
or dishonoured ; whatever our rank, we will all drink 
of the same cup with you to-day.” ’ 

Stephen’s guard was broken at last— the words 
went through his heart. He knew that Guy was right. 
This man had laid hold on life itself ; no time or change 
would ever still the reverberation of such words. He sat 
silent, blinking at the fire. 

4 Guy,’ said Sir Henry, putting out his hand to the 
wine flagon, 4 will you take anything more ? Then 
perhaps you would like to go up? — you have had a 
long day.’ 


FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 
X. Among the Squires 

At the end of November 1389, during a three years’ 
truce between England and France, it occurred to 
three young French knights to get up a match between 
the gentlemen of the two countries. To avoid giving 
offence their challenge was nominally addressed to all 
nations, but the ground chosen for the encounter was 
at the Abbey of St. Inglebert, in the marches of Calais, 
which was then an English town ; and it was chiefly 
in London and Westminster that the proclamation 
was intended to be cried, for it was carefully revised 
by the French King and his Council before it was 
sent. It ran as follows : — 

‘ For the great desire that we have to come to the 
knowledge of noble gentlemen, knights and squires, 
strangers, as well on the frontiers of the realm of France, 
as elsewhere of far countries ; we shall be at St. Ingle- 
bert, in the marches of Calais, the twentieth day of 
the month of March next coming, and there continue 
thirty days complete, Fridays only excepted, and shall 
deliver from their vows all manner of knights and 
squires, gentlemen, strangers of any manner of nation, 
whatsoever they be, that will come thither for the 
breaking of five spears, either sharp or rockets at their 
174 


AMONG THE SQUIRES 175 

pleasure ; and outside our lodgings shall be shields 
of our arms, both the shields of peace and of war ; 
and whosoever will joust, let him come or send the day 
before, and with a rod touch which shield he pleases : if 
he touch the shield of war, the next day he shall joust 
in jousts mortal with which of the three he will, and 
if he touch the shield of peace he shall have the jousts 
of peace : so that whosoever touch any of the shields, 
show or cause to be showed his name to such as shall 
be there limited by us to receive the names ; and all 
such knights, strangers, as will joust, to bring some 
nobleman on their side, who shall be instructed by us 
what ought to be done in this case. 

4 And we entreat all knights and squires, strangers, 
that will come and joust, that they think not nor 
imagine of us that we do this for any pride, hatred, or 
ill-will ; but all only we do it to have their honourable 
company and acquaintance, the which with our entire 
hearts we desire. 

‘ None of our shields shall be covered with iron or 
steel, nor none of theirs that will come to joust with 
us, nor shall there be any manner of frauds, advantage 
or evil service, but everything to be ordered by them 
that shall be committed by either party to govern the 
jousts. 

4 And that all gentlemen, noble knights and squires, 
to whom this shall come to knowledge, may repute 
it firm and stable, we have sealed this present writing 
with the seals of our arms. Written at Montpellier, 
the twentieth day of November, in the year of our Lord 
God a thousand three hundred, four-score and nine, 
and signed thus — 

< Reynault De Roye : Boucicaut : Saimpi.’ 


176 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

The Jousts of St. Inglebert accordingly took place 
in March 1390, beginning nominally as advertised, 
on the 20th, which was the Sunday before Easter, but 
in fact on Monday, the 21st. They may fairly be 
called the greatest and most typical athletic meeting 
of the Middle Ages ; and we fortunately know more 
about them than about any other event of the kind. 
The names and doings of the j ousters during the first 
four days, when the match with England was practically 
fought out and won, are minutely recorded in at least 
three contemporary accounts — the ‘ Chronicle of Frois- 
sart,’ the 4 Histoire du Marechal Boucicaut,’ and the 
French rhyming poem called 4 Les Joutes de St. Ingle- 
bert,’ evidently compiled from the notes of the two 
French heralds, Bourbon and Bleu-levrier. Among 
the English champions who came over and actually 
took part in the match, was a young squire named John 
Marland, presumed to be the same John Marland who, 
while yet a boy, inherited the knight’s fee of Orchard- 
leigh, in Somerset, from his father, Henry de Marland, 
mentioned in the preceding story. He was, if the 
dates are rightly inferred, not more than twenty-three 
when he rode at St. Inglebert. The narrative which 
here follows is, therefore, the record of a boy’s first 
adventure in the great world of chivalry. 

His intention had been to cross to France in company 
with his friend, John Savage, in the train of the Earl 
of Huntingdon, the King’s half-brother, but by a 
misunderstanding he reached London some days too 
late and had to follow by himself. He had still ample 
time, and he made his journey slowly. He could not 
bring himself to part company with his baggage, for it 
contained, among other valuables, the armour which 


177 


AMONG THE SQUIRES 

had cost so much, and upon which so much depended. 
He slept at Dartford, Sittingbourne, and Canterbury ; 
crossed early on the fourth day, and was in Calais 
before noon. His friend, John Savage, was expecting 
him ; for he had sent an express messenger in advance, 
and every preparation had been made for putting 
up his men and horses. He himself was to share the 
house in which his friend and another squire were 
already lodged, close to the citadel where their master, 
the Earl of Huntingdon, was staying with Lord Notting- 
ham, the Captain of Calais. Dinner was ready, and 
Savage proposed that they should go to table at once 
without waiting for the other partner, who was late 
in returning from the training-ground. 

4 1 don’t think you know Roger Swynnerton,’ he 
said, 4 but I can assure you that you won’t find his 
equal among the squires here ; the fact is, that he is 
too good and too experienced to be a squire at all. He’s 
as old as Huntingdon himself, and man for man, his 
equal in every way.’ 

4 How is it,’ Marland asked, 4 that he has had to 
wait so long for promotion ? ’ 

4 No money,’ Savage replied, in the light tone of 
a man of the world ; 4 he is the son of a younger 
son.’ 

4 1 wonder the Earl took him.’ 

‘ He is a sort of relation, you see ; his uncle, 
old Sir Thomas Swynnerton, married Huntingdon’s 
aunt.’ 

Marland laughed. 4 1 don’t quite follow the relation- 
ship,’ he said ; 4 but since the Earl does, I should have 
thought he might provide for his kinsman.’ 

4 Well,’ replied Savage, ‘ he has done what he could ; 


178 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

he has suggested one or two good matches to him, 
but Swynnerton is obstinate, he prefers to choose for 
himself.’ 

John nodded approval. 4 By the way,’ he said, 

‘ I thought I remembered the name. Wasn’t there a 
lady — a certain Maud Swynnerton — that you used to 
think a good deal about ? ’ 

Savage avoided his eyes. 4 You need not say 
44 used ”,’ he replied in a warning tone. 

John took the hint. 6 1 am glad to hear it,’ he 
said cordially ; ‘ tell me more.’ 

4 She is married,’ replied Savage, still with averted 
looks. 

John had many ideas about love, but no experience. 
He saw that his friend was suffering, but had no salve 
for him beyond mere commonplace. 

4 My dear fellow,’ he began, 4 a woman’s choice ’ 

‘ There is no woman’s choice in the question,’ 
Savage interrupted ; 4 she was married against her 

will — carried off by that old brute, Sir William Ipstones, 
and married by force to his own son, a mere boy 
younger than herself.’ 

4 By force ! ’ exclaimed John. 4 But what were 
her family doing to allow it ? ’ 

4 She has no family — she was Sir Robert’s 
only child, and he is dead. That is the whole 
point of it : she is sole heiress to the Swynnerton 
property.’ 

4 And what does your friend Roger say — he is her 
cousin, I suppose ? ’ 

4 He says nothing — and he is quite right ; there is 
nothing to be said for the present. The marriage is 
a hollow affair, by all accounts ; young Ipstones is 


AMONG THE SQUIRES 179 

a boy and a weakling ; if he lives to grow up, I will 
call him to a reckoning one way or another.’ 

The tone was resolute enough, but the plan seemed 
a little vague. 4 1 suppose Swynnerton is backing 
you ? ’ he said. 

4 He is not his own master,’ replied Savage ; 4 but 
when the time comes, he will need no persuading. You 
don’t know Roger ; he never lets go when he has once 
set his teeth. Besides, I am helping him in his own 
business.’ 

4 Is his business of the same kind as yours ? ’ 

4 Worse — the lady is even more unhappy. You 
must have heard of the beautiful Joan Hastings, who 
married Sir John Salusbury ? He was persecuted to 
death by Gloucester and his gang for being too loyal, 
and Joan, instead of waiting for Roger, has thrown 
herself away on a Frenchman named Rustine de 
Villeneuve. Of course, she is miserable.’ 

4 There again,’ said John, 4 1 suppose there is nothing 
to be done for the present ? ’ 

4 For the present ! for the present ! how did we 
come to talk of these things ? ’ cried Savage, rising 
abruptly and going over to the window. John looked 
after him very sympathetically, and with a glow 
of chivalrous enthusiasm. If anything could have 
heightened his esteem for these two friends, from 
whom he hoped so much, it would have been their 
devotion to their distressed ladies. His mind was full 
of knightly challenges and deeds of arms, in which 
he himself was to play a secondary but very honour- 
able part. 

Savage turned back to him from the window. 

4 Look here,’ he said, 4 we must have no more of 


180 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

this ; we have a stiff day’s work in hand over here, 
and we must go through with it. Don’t let Roger 
know I have told you anything, and don’t speak of 
either affair again until we are back in England.’ 

John held out his hand and gave his friend a re- 
assuring grip. 

6 You can’t forbid my thinking,’ he said ; 4 1 shall 
always be trying to devise a way out.’ 

4 The way out — there are only two possible,’ muttered 
the other. 

4 What are they ? ’ 

4 Oh ! death and divorce, I suppose,’ replied Savage 
sullenly, and, as he spoke them, John thought he had 
never heard two uglier words. He was relieved to 
hear a cheerful voice approaching. The door opened, 
and Roger Swynnerton entered the room. 

The new-comer gave Marland a friendly greeting, 
and sat down opposite to him. There was a short 
break in the conversation while the servant placed 
fresh dishes upon the table, and John spent the time 
in noting the marked contrast between his two com- 
panions. Savage was of his own age ; he was ruddy, 
active, and well-knit, but rather small-made and fine 
for a man of arms ; his jet-black moustache and closely 
cropped hair made his face somewhat conventional 
in type, but gave him what he most desired — an un- 
deniably military appearance ; his spirits were usually 
high, his manner vivacious, and even jaunty. Roger, 
on the other hand, was a thick-set figure of much 
heavier weight, and with no grace but that of strength ; 
his features were blunt, and seemed more so from the 
entire absence of hair from the face ; the contours 
were muscular and firm, and both forehead and 


181 


AMONG THE SQUIRES 

jaw unusually massive. His eyes were frank and 
kindly as he spoke to John, and his voice had a 
manly matter-of-fact tone in it, but there was 
something forbidding in the lines of determination 
about the mouth. He was no stripling, at the be- 
ginning of his career, but a soldier of thirty-six, who 
had long been hard put to it to keep pace with his 
wealthier companions ; and it seemed, by his appear- 
ance, that he had thrown aside in the race a good deal 
of the poetry with which youth delights to deck itself 
at the start. 

For some time he paid undivided attention to his 
dinner, and the meal ended without his having con- 
tributed more than a word here and there to the con- 
versation. He then filled a small cup of wine for 
himself and each of his companions, and leaned back 
in his chair. 

4 We are in strict training,’ he explained, as he 
pushed the wine-flagon farther away, ‘and we need 
to be. I hope you have come prepared to join us ? ’ 

John replied, with as little eagerness as possible, 
that he was there for that purpose. 

‘ You have run before ? ’ asked Swynnerton. 4 I 
don’t mean in practice, of course.’ 

4 Oh yes,’ replied John, 4 twice — at Chester and 
Stafford.’ 

Swynnerton looked him over with a cool scrutiny 
that was hard to face without embarrassment. 

4 1 daresay you did pretty well there,’ he said, as his 
eyes came up to the level of John’s ; 4 but it will be 
much hotter work here. What’s your armour like ? ’ 

4 Milanese,’ replied John, in a fine off-hand tone, 
and then spoiled the effect by adding, 4 and brand new.’ 


182 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

4 Right ! and the horses ? You mustn’t mind my 
asking questions.’ 

4 Not at all,’ replied John. c I have brought two 
chargers. One is a bit hard-mouthed, but neither of 
them ever refuses.’ 

Swynnerton nodded. 4 We’ll look at them to- 
morrow,’ he said. ‘ It is the only day you will have 
for galloping, I’m afraid. Thursday, we are to practise 
• the grand parade, and again on Saturday. Sunday 
must be a day off for everyone.’ 

He finished his wine, rose a little stiffly, and stretched 
himself. 4 1 must be going,’ he said to John, 4 but 
we’ve plenty of time before us.’ He gave him another 
nod of approval and went noisily down the stairs. 

‘Now,’ said Savage, when they were left alone, 
4 I’ll show you your quarters, and you shall show me 
the Milanese harness.’ 

2. A Council of War 

The trials came off successfully next day upon a 
training-ground outside the walls of the town ; but 
they were not so easily accomplished as Marland had 
expected. He was quite unprepared for the immense 
crowd of would-be competitors, and spent a somewhat 
discontented morning, waiting in vain for his turn in 
the enclosure which had been measured and fenced in 
to represent the lists. Though the three champions 
were to hold the field for thirty days, and the Earl of 
Huntingdon’s party was probably by no means the 
only one which would take up the challenge during 
that time, there were already more than sixty knights 
and gentlemen in Calais, and on this, the last day of 
serious practising, they and their grooms, with chargers 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 183 

and hackneys, covered the downs in every direction, 
and almost choked the streets of the town. 

By Savage’s advice John went back early to 
dinner, and returned at a time when the ground was 
comparatively clear. Horses and armour both proved 
to be in satisfactory condition, and he was about to 
make his way home for the day when two horsemen, 
magnificently mounted, and followed by a dozen 
others, overtook and passed him at a canter. One 
of the party was Swynnerton ; he made a peremptory 
gesture as he went by, and pointed to the two figures 
in front. 

‘ They are going to make up the list,’ he explained, 
when John drew level. ‘I’ll try and find the moment 
to present you.’ 

‘ Who is the other ? ’ asked Marland. 

‘ The Earl Marshal ; the man nearest him is Basker- 
ville, his cousin and chief squire, and the next one is 
Stamer, a kinsman of Huntingdon’s, just knighted.’ 

John’s heart beat ; he felt as though he were already 
one of a splendid fellowship. Ten minutes afterwards 
he found himself following Swynnerton into the great 
chamber of the castle, where the two Earls were to hold 
their council of war. They were talking together 
by the fire, and the squires remained at a respectful 
distance just inside the door — Swynnerton alert, but 
with a well trained air of indifference — John with eyes 
fixed openly on the great men. He had seen earls 
before; but these were famous j ousters of almost royal 
rank, and he was prepared to admire without reserve. 
It was disappointing that, at first sight, both appeared 
to fall short of his ideal. Nottingham had the high- 
bred manner to be expected of a Mowbray, but his face 


184 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

was young and lacking in character ; Huntingdon, on 
the other hand, though of a much stronger type, had 
a coarse look about his heavy eyes, and the corners 
of his mouth were drawn with a permanent curve 
of unmeasured, and even ferocious, pride. Still, he 
was grandly built, and moved with a grand air — 
a fine figure, John thought to himself, but an 
uncongenial master to serve. Perhaps he hardly 
showed to advantage at this moment, for he was 
clearly impatient. 

4 Swynnerton,’ he said presently, 4 are these fellows 
ever coming ? ’ 

‘ It is hardly the hour yet,’ replied the squire, with 
the self-possession of a confidential servant. 4 In the 
meantime, my lord, may I present to you my friend 
John Marland, who has come to offer his service to 
your lordship ? ’ 

The Earl looked at John, but did not acknowledge 
his bow. 

‘ Well, Roger,’ he said, as he turned his shoulder 
again, ‘ I suppose you know your business — you 
generally do.’ 

Nottingham saw John’s flaming cheeks. 4 Mar- 
land ? ’ he asked courteously. ‘ I think I know that 
name. Where do you come from, sir ? ’ 

‘ Cheshire, my lord,’ replied John, swallowing 
humiliation and gratitude together. 

4 There is no county more loyal,’ said Nottingham 
gravely, and Huntingdon himself half relaxed his 
frown and gave John another look over his shoulder. 

At this moment the door opened and Savage 
appeared, ushering in Lord Clifford, Sir Piers Courtenay, 
Sir John Golafre, and several other knights, all of 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 185 

whom took their places at the long table. At the head 
of it sat the two earls, side by side. Swynnerton stood 
at his master’s right shoulder, and William Baskerville 
on the Earl Marshal’s left ; next to him was a herald 
with pen and inkhorn ready, and a list of names in 
his hand. No one took the least notice of Marland, 
who remained standing like one petrified, till Savage 
drew him down to a place by his own side on a settle 
near the door and reassured him by a wink and a 
smile. 

There was a buzz of conversation, which ceased 
suddenly when the Earl Marshal rapped upon the 
bare table. 4 My lords,’ he said, looking down at a 
memorandum handed to him by the herald, 4 our paper 
of agenda is not a long one ; but I think that you will 
agree with me that it is time we made out some kind 
of order for this contest.’ 

6 And remember,’ added Huntingdon brusquely, 
‘ that we are here to win, not to take riding-lessons.’ 

‘ My lord means,’ said Nottingham, 4 that we have 
no time to waste over rockets and boys’ games — we 
are over here for serious business, and whoever runs 
must be prepared to run with sharp points and in war 
harness. I take it that we shall all be of one mind 
about that.’ 

There was a general murmur of assent, but Hunting- 
don was not to be explained away. 

4 Spears, of course,’ he said scornfully, 4 that goes 
without saying ; but I meant that these Frenchmen 
have defied us, and it is for us to see that they pay 
for it.’ 

Courtenay murmured something short to his neigh- 
bour. 4 My lord,’ he said aloud to the Earl Marshal, 


186 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

4 I have not seen the terms of the challenge lately, 
but I understand it to be a general one to gentlemen 
of all nations.’ 

6 That won’t do,’ said Huntingdon ; ‘ the field is 
pitched on our frontier.’ 

4 I think,’ said the Earl Marshal, 4 it must be allowed 
that the match is practically England against France. 
I have been asked to preside to-day on that under- 
standing.’ 

4 And I am here,’ added Huntingdon, 4 in the place 
of the King, my brother.’ 

A silence followed, during which Savage kicked 
John carefully, and caught his eye. 

4 Well, now,’ continued Huntingdon in a more 
genial tone, 4 the Earl Marshal will no doubt settle 
the list presently and arrange the order of precedence. 
What I want to hear discussed is the plan of campaign. 
The challengers leave it open to every one to take his 
choice between the three of them ; but, so far as my 
own company is concerned, I must know beforehand 
whom they intend to call out.’ 

There was some demur at this autocratic proposal, 
but it was supported by the Earl Marshal. 

4 We must remember,’ he said, 4 that though we 
have three good j ousters to deal with, one of them is 
far more formidable than the others. We must pick 
our best men to run against Reynault de Roye — men 
who can face even a — a — possible reverse.’ 

4 Or else,’ said Huntingdon, 4 put all our strength 
against Boucicaut and Sempy, and leave only the 
weaklings to de Roye. In that way we shall probably 
make sure of defeating two of them, and give the third 
nothing to boast about.’ 


187 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 

A moment of consternation followed this unknightly 
proposal, but it was quickly dispelled by the deep voice 
of Sir John Golafre, the biggest man in the room. 
‘ My lord,’ he said, 4 if the noble Earl’s ingenious 
suggestion is adopted, may I beg that you will put me 
down as first weakling ? ’ 

Again Savage winked at John, who drew a breath 
of relief that was almost a sob. Smiles of discreet 
approval were passing between the knights at the table, 
and Huntingdon was looking round in vain for someone 
to second him. 

4 What do you say, Courtenay ? ’ he asked. Sir 
Piers was his neighbour in Devonshire, and the most 
famous champion present. But he was at once too 
chivalrous and too diplomatic to fall into the Earl’s 
snare. 

‘ I say, my lord, that in my experience no one is 
irresistible — there is a deal of chance in these affairs ; 
you may tumble to a Sempy, and yet have the luck 
to bring down a de Roye. I propose to try them all 
three — I should count myself beaten by any man I 
dared not meet, and, as you say, we are here to win.’ 

After some further discussion, too confused for 
John to hear very much of it, the Earl Marshal took 
the sense of the meeting, and Lord Huntingdon’s 
proposal was lost. A compromise was then agreed 
upon ; the choice of antagonists was to be left open, 
according to the usual practice, but the names of nine 
first-rate j ousters were definitely entered to run some 
or all their courses against de Roye, three of them 
on each of the first three days. The herald then read 
the list aloud ; at the head of the nine came the Earl 
Marshal, followed by seven knights and one squire — 


188 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

Roger Swynnerton — but, to John’s astonishment, the 
name of the Earl of Huntingdon was not amongst 
them. He looked round at Savage with an indignant 
question written on every feature of his face, but 
Savage was already holding the door open for the 
departing council. 

The Earl passed out last, and Swynnerton with him : 
the two young squires were left alone together. 

Savage closed the door carefully, and turned to 
his companion ; he looked puzzled, but showed none 
of the indignation that was disturbing Mar land. 

4 Strange folk, our masters,’ he said, with an 
uncertain eye on John. 

4 Your master,’ replied John, 4 never mine ! ’ 

4 I was afraid you might say that ; but you must 
not judge too soon. He has some reason for shirking 
de Roye ; it can’t be from any softness, for he is hard 
to the core — his friends and enemies are all at one 
about that.’ 

4 But he planned for us to shirk too,’ growled 
John. 

4 Oh ! ’ said Savage airily, 4 the devil take his plans ; 
he’s a bit too keen, that’s all. I’m going for de Roye 
myself, but you needn’t tell him so.’ 

John’s eye kindled. 4 Good man ! ’ he said, 4 so 
am I — with every spear I have.’ 

They shook hands on it. At that moment the door 
opened, and Swynnerton reappeared upon the threshold ; 
to John’s eye he seemed taller and of a more dignified 
carriage since the reading of that list, but the change 
was apparently not visible to Savage, who spoke to 
him in his usual light tone. 

4 Does he want me, Roger ? ’ 


189 


A COUNCIL OF WAR 

‘ No,’ replied the other ; 4 he has gone to supper 
with Clifford. But what are you two shaking hands 
about ? 5 

‘ Agreeing to do my lord’s duty for him and try 
de Roye.’ 

Savage raised his chin. 4 We shall cdver ourselves 
with glory,’ he replied. 

4 With dust, you mean,’ retorted the elder man. 

4 I hope,’ John was beginning deferentially — 4 1 
hope you don’t think ’ 

Swynnerton looked disapprovingly at them both. 
4 1 wish you were not so young, you two,’ he said, and 
turned away as if to go. But, before they could move, 
he had changed his mind and was facing them again. 

4 Look here,’ he said, in a frank but peremptory tone. 
‘ I am going to tell you exactly what I do think. I 
don’t approve of Huntingdon’s plan, and I told him 
so at once when he first broached it ; I don’t believe 
in dodges — the man who rides hardest is the man for 
me. It is quite right for you young ones to take your 
risks, and I like to see you do it ; but it is no business 
of yours to make rules, and judge your betters by them. 
My lord is here as our captain ; he is to open the game, 
and it won’t do for him to lead off with a stumble, or 
any chance of one. We should have others going after 
him, like palings when a rot sets in, and in any case 
it would certainly put heart into the Frenchmen. It 
is all settled ; Huntingdon will take Boucicaut — 
Boucicaut’s own people think a good deal more of him 
than you do — and Nottingham will follow with de 
Roye. That’s the order of the day, and, if you are 
decent fellows, you’ll take my view of it, and do all 
you can to see that others do the same.’ 


190 FRANCE a. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

He looked them both squarely in the face and then 
went out with a heavy deliberate step. 

4 Quite a long speech for old Roger,’ said Savage. 
4 He doesn’t altogether convince me, but I suppose we 
must do as he says.’ 

4 It seems hard to expect us to preach an opinion 
we don’t hold,’ said John, 4 but if you think it your 
duty, I suppose it must be mine.’ He spoke argumen- 
tatively, but Savage saw nothing to argue about. 

4 That’s it,’ he replied cheerfully ; 4 Roger backs 

Huntingdon, I back Roger, and you back me. You 
serve my lord, after all, you see.’ 

4 No nearer than that, thank you.’ 

4 Well, don’t look so serious over it,’ said Savage, 
and carried him off to supper. 

3. A Very Young Lord 

By Saturday afternoon all preparations were com- 
plete. The grand entry had been successfully rehearsed, 
in full dress, and nothing now remained to think about 
except a possible change in the weather, of which there 
was at present no sign. Daylight was fading slowly, 
in a clear sky, as John sat in the window of his lodging. 
He was alone, for both his friends were away on duty ; 
and after several hours out in the keen March air the 
warmth of the room was beginning to take drowsy 
effect upon him. His eyes felt as though the ‘Dusty 
Miller ’ of his childhood had been powdering them with 
both hands, his chin was sinking imperceptibly towards 
his chest. He was not yet asleep ; but of the fulness 
of life past, present, and future — nothing was left to 
him but a deep dim sense of animal comfort. 

4 John ! John ! O-ho ! John ! ’ 


A VERY YOUNG LORD 191 

Through this twilight world the eager young voice 
rang as clear as a trumpet. John’s mind awoke, but 
not his body ; he remained motionless, wondering 
where he was, and who was calling him. 



The young Lord finds John Marland in his room. 


‘ John ? ’ The voice fell to a question this time, 
and was certainly now in the room. He opened his 
eyes and saw the figure of a boy of fifteen, tall and fair, 
standing with one foot forward as if suddenly checked 
in his impetuous entry ; the pale sunlight met him 
full face, and seemed to baffle his eagerness as he peered 
at the sleeper beneath the window. 


192 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

Marland rose. Something unfamiliar in the move- 
ment evidently struck the visitor ; for he turned, as if 
for support, towards the open door, where at this moment 
a second figure appeared. This, too, was a boy, some 
three years younger than the other. He halted quietly 
on the threshold, put his hands in his pockets, and 
watched the scene without a word. 

4 I say,’ exclaimed the elder of the two, 4 this is 
someone else. I beg your pardon,’ he said, turning 
to Marland ; 4 1 thought you were John.’ 

4 1 am John,’ replied Marland, 4 but apparently 
not the right one. If you want John Savage, he will 
be here directly. You had better wait.’ 

4 May I ? Thanks,’ said the boy, in the short eager 
manner that seemed to match his pointed chin and 
bright eyes. 4 Come in, Edmund, and shut the door. 
My brother’s rather slack,’ he added apologetically, 
taking a seat upon the table, from which his legs swung 
restlessly as he talked. The younger boy closed the 
door and came forward ; he was silent, but quite un- 
embarrassed, and stood leaning against the table by his 
brother’s side, looking with large brown eyes at John. 

It was clear, from the manners of the two, that they 
were unaccustomed to meet with rebuffs. Their dress, 
too, indicated rank ; but John had no idea who they 
could be. 

4 Where are you staying ? ’ he asked. 

4 At the Castle. We’ve just come. My uncle’s 
there, you know.’ 

John put two and two together. 4 Is your uncle 
the Earl of Huntingdon ? ’ 

‘That’s right,’ the boy nodded. 4 Do you know 
him ? ’ 


A VERY YOUNG LORD 193 

4 1 do.’ Unconsciously John’s voice took an in- 
dependent tone as he answered this question. The 
change was not lost on quick young ears. 

‘ I say,’ exclaimed the questioner, ‘ are you a lord ? * 

‘ Oh no ! only a squire.’ 

■ Who’s your master ? ’ 

‘ I haven’t one.’ 

‘ I see. Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t come to 
Uncle John.’ 

‘ I am only with him for the jousts,’ replied Marland, 
longing to hear more on this subject. But the boy 
was looking round the room, where, along the wall, the 
armour of the occupants was carefully ranged on wooden 
stands. The three shields, newly painted in silver and 
black, seemed to attract him especially. 

* This is Savage’s, with the six lions rampant,’ he 
said. ‘ I should always know that, because it’s like 
William Longsword’s ; and the big cross is Roger’s ; 
and this is yours — with a bend and three lions’ heads 
of sable. I say, why are they all three the same colours ? 
Are you relations ? Are you all in mourning ? ’ 

John smiled at the crackle of questions. 

4 In our part of the country,’ he replied, 4 there are 
a great many coats of black and silver.’ 

‘ What name does this one belong to ? ’ 

‘ Mells of Eastwich.’ 

‘ Oh ! John Mells — that’s rather a short kind of 
name, isn’t it ? ’ 

6 It is not my name ; I am John Marland.’ 

The boy was mystified, as John intended he should 
be. 

‘ But you said Mells,’ he began in a tone of remon- 
strance. 


194 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

His brother here opened his lips for the first time, 
and gave his opinion deliberately, with a slight stammer. 

4 Tom, you’re a b-bat.’ 

4 Shut up, Edmund, you stammering young cuckoo,’ 
said the elder boy ; but Edmund went on unperturbed, 
his eyes fixed on John with romantic admiration. 

4 C-can’t you see he killed Mells in a fight, and took 
his c-coat ? ’ 

4 Not so bad as that,’ said John ; 4 but Mells is 
dead, and I have inherited his lands.’ 

Tom pounced , again. 4 Then you had another 
coat for Marland ? ’ 

4 Yes,’ John replied. 4 It is wavy gules and silver, 
with seven marlions of sable.’ 

4 1 like that better,’ said Tom. 4 1 love scarlet ; 
I shall have scarlet myself when I’m a knight. Shall 
you be a knight ? ’ 

4 Some day, perhaps,’ replied John, 4 if I am not 
killed first.’ 

4 I’ll tell you what,’ replied the boy, 4 if you like 
fighting, you’d better come with me ; I shall be wanting 
a squire.’ 

4 When will that be ? ’ asked John, concealing his 
amusement. 

4 When my father chooses,’ replied Tom ; 4 he can 
always get anything out of Uncle Richard.’ 

Voices were heard on the stairs ; the younger boy 
gave his brother a warning look. 4 Nicholas ! ’ he 
said. 

Tom explained to Marland : 4 It is only Nicholas 
Love ; he teaches us Latin and French and blazonry, 
and the kings of England.’ 

4 And p-poetry,’ added Edmund. 


AMONG THE CHAMPIONS 195 

Nicholas came in with Savage, whom he had met 
outside. In the brief moment of a formal greeting, 
and beneath the fast falling twilight, he loomed but 
vaguely in John’s eyes ; a dignified and solid form — 
unusually solid for a man of thirty, and made more 
bulky by the thick white Carthusian habit which hung 
without a seam from his chin down to his feet. 

4 My young friends,’ he said presently to the boys, 
who were busy with Savage, 4 you have my leave to 
retire.’ He spoke with a noticeable turn of dry humour, 
evidently habitual with him. 

The 4 young friends ’ seemed to be in no hurry. 4 We 
can’t go yet,’ they said. 

4 1 respect your scruples,’ replied Nicholas, 4 but 
you will probably be less missed than you suppose. 
I hope,’ he added, turning to John, 4 that they leave 
nothing owing ? ’ 

4 1 cannot quite say that,’ replied John, laughing ; 
4 there are my wages from my Lord Thomas.’ 

4 He is going to be my body squire,’ explained Tom, 
as his brother pushed him through the doorway. 
4 You see, Nicholas, I like him.’ 

4 Get on, g-grab-all ! ’ said Edmund. 

4. Among the Champions. 

Monday, March 21, dawned at last. Early in the 
morning, though not so early as they had intended, 
the Earls of Nottingham and Huntingdon left the 
gates of Calais at the head of a large and confused 
company of horsemen. A short distance outside the 
walls they halted, called over the roll of names, and 
marshalled their following in two orderly columns. 
Of these, the first was much the larger, and contained 


196 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

the armourers, grooms, and spare horses ; the second 
was composed of the combatants and other gentlemen 
of rank, riding on a narrower front to make the more 
imposing show. 

The spot which had been chosen for the encounter 
was a level extent of plain, about half-way between 
Calais and the Abbey of St. Inglebert, where the three 
challengers had their headquarters. The ground, how- 
ever, was as new to them as to their opponents, for 
their training had all been done at Boulogne, and 
the lists had been prepared independently by the two 
judges — the Earl of Northumberland on one side, and 
on the other the famous Jean de Personne, known 
invariably throughout France by the name of Lancelot. 

When the barriers were reached, the leading column 
halted and parted to right and left, making a long lane 
down which passed the more splendid company, in order 
to take the place of honour in the grand entry. The 
Earl of Huntingdon' entered first, riding between the 
Earl Marshal and Lord Clifford ; and they were pre- 
ceded by six trumpeters sounding a challenge, and 
followed by six body squires in their liveries. After 
them came the other combatants, eighteen knights 
in one company and eighteen squires in another, each 
man in full armour, bearing his own arms and colours, 
and with his body-servant in attendance, unarmed, 
but even more brilliantly apparelled. Last came a 
group of distinguished spectators, some twenty in 
number, who, though unable for various good reasons 
to play the game themselves, found it worth their while 
to come from England in great state to assist their 
friends with advice and applause. Some of them, 
indeed, were men of vast experience, and, though they 


AMONG THE CHAMPIONS 197 

never rode in a match, had been present at every first- 
class meeting for twenty years past ; all were dressed 
with a splendour worthy of the privileged enclosure 
from which they were to view the contest. 

The whole cavalcade made the tour of the lists 
from left to right at a walking pace, and John, as he 
passed in his turn through the barriers and saw the 
whole pageant before him at a glance, felt that only 
the voice of trumpets could express the triumph that 
was rioting through his heart. The pangs of doubt 
and disappointment, sharp enough at the time, which 
had troubled him more than once since he heard the 
Westminster bells, were now forgotten utterly, as 
though they had been but thorn pricks ; to-day and 
here, as he saw the procession winding round the long 
curve of the lists ahead of him, the figures of the two 
Earls seemed the embodiment of dignity and stately 
courage, and he felt that he could follow them anywhere. 

At this moment the trumpeters were wheeling 
round to approach the spectators’ balcony on the far 
side ; it was hung with blue and gold cloth, and 
surmounted by the lilies of France, but was at present 
empty. John’s eyes instinctively turned from this 
to the left-hand side of the ground, which it faced, 
and he found that he was on the point of passing before 
the quarters of the challengers. Their three pavilions 
were all of crimson, but each was distinguished by the 
device of its owner, embroidered in large letters on a 
golden scroll. That of Boucicaut, which was close 
to him, bore the words ‘ Ce que vous vouldrez ’ — a 
motto which the young champion had but newly 
chosen, but which he ever afterwards retained in 
memory of St. Inglebert. 


198 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

After passing the pavilions, and the crowd of gaily 
dressed French gentlemen drawn up between them, 
John found himself abreast of a huge elm-tree, which 
had been purposely included in the circuit of the high 
outer fence. On the wide-spreading branches near the 
ground were hung the shields of the three challengers : 
of these there were six, one set painted with their 
owners’ arms as in ordinary warfare, the other set 
also in the owners’ different colours, but all three with 
the same impress — three hearts, two above and one 
below — a bearing specially devised for this occasion. 
Beside each shield five spears were ranged : those by 
the shields of war had sharp steel points, those by the 
shields of peace were tipped with rockets or blunt 
heads, shaped like coronets. At the end of the nearest 
branch hung a golden horn, and, as John marked this 
unusual item of the ceremonial furniture, he felt that 
it added the last touch of romance to the most chivalrous 
contest of the age. 

By this time the leaders had completed their circuit, 
and were taking possession of the enclosure allotted 
to their party, near the gate by which they had entered ; 
the servants were crowding into the space which the 
procession had just traversed, between the inner rail 
and the high outer fence. From the centre of the 
balcony a herald cried aloud the terms of the challenge 
to all comers, and ended by declaring the lists open, in 
the name of God and St. Denis. 

Before the last note of the trumpet had died away 
the English ranks opened, and the Earl of Huntingdon 
was seen advancing towards the pavilions followed by 
two squires bearing his shield and helm. He rode with 
a slow majestic pace, and to the onlookers it seemed 



The Earl of Huntingdon blows the golden horn 





AMONG THE CHAMPIONS 199 

long before he reached the great tree and took the 
horn in his mailed right hand. A loud and fierce blast 
followed, caught up and redoubled by a tremendous 
cheer from every Englishman on the ground. The 
French cheered in return, and the noise continued 
for some minutes, while the Earl’s helm was being 
buckled on by his attendant squires. He then, with 
a light rod, touched the war shield of Boucicaut, and 
a fresh burst of cheering drowned the voice of the 
herald who was crying to summon that champion 
forth from his pavilion. 

The call was quickly passed on, and Boucicaut 
appeared in full armour and with helm already fastened. 
He took his place at thd far end of the lists, and John, 
from where he sat in his saddle directly behind Hunting- 
don, fixed his eyes like one fascinated upon the red 
eagle on the young Frenchman’s silver shield. With 
the first note of the trumpet he saw it begin to move ; 
nearer and nearer it came, the long bright lance 
gleaming above it ; a sudden shock, a noise of splintering 
wood, and the two riders had passed one another, and 
were trying to rein in their excited chargers. The 
red eagle came on within a few yards of John, turned 
gracefully, and went back up the ground ; at the far 
end Huntingdon was also wheeling, while his squires 
were examining the fragments of his shield, which 
had been completely pierced and broken by his 
opponent’s spear. 

It occurred to John that it was not a very fortunate 
omen for the lions of England to be thus defaced at 
the first onset ; but he joined in the cheer that greeted 
the announcement that the Earl himself was uninjured, 
the spear having glanced harmlessly over his x arm* 


200 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

\ 

Again he watched the red eagle, this time without 
such tense anxiety ; the course was uneventful and 
his hopes rose. But, at the third round, both the chargers 
refused to cope, and a murmur of disappointment went 
round. 

The Earl came to his place, and made ready to 
start again. He was hot and angry, and could be 
heard swearing under his impassive mask of iron. His 
anger turned to fury when he saw that Boucicaut was 
returning to his pavilion. No reason was offered for 
this withdrawal, but none was really needed ; for the 
judges had announced that no challenger was under 
obligation to run more than three courses against any 
one opponent. Huntingdon, however, was beside him- 
self with rage, and so far lost his head as to roar out 
a boastful and violent order to one of his squires to 
strike the shield of Sempy, the least formidable of the 
French party. 

The French, however — if they heard it — had the 
good taste to ignore this breach of manners, and 
Sempy responded without delay. The first course was 
a failure, the horses crossing before they met. In the 
confused shock which followed, Huntingdon was un- 
helmed, more by accident than design. When he 
returned to his place to be re-armed, Swynnerton moved 
forward as if to see that the new buckle was well secured, 
and John guessed that he had seized the opportunity^ 
to offer a word of advice to his infuriated lord. The 
Earl seemed mollified by his suggestions, which were 
probably administered in the disguise of admiration 
and encouragement. He made ready with more self- 
control, and levelled his spear deliberately for the body- 
stroke, a difficult form of attack but one more likely 


AMONG THE CHAMPIONS 201 

to be decisive. Sempy adopted the same tactics, and 
the result was a fine encounter ; each of the combatants 
drove his lance fair and square into the centre of his 
opponent’s shield, and both men and horses reeled 
with the shock — the riders barely saved themselves 
by sheer leg-grip from rolling over. 

After a short breathing space, the Earl again pre- 
sented himself. The judges had already agreed that 
though five courses was the number mentioned in the 
proclamation, six in all should be allowed to those 
who wished to run against more than one of the 
challengers. Sempy accordingly took his station once 
more. This time both men chose the high point, and 
each struck the other on the helm with sufficient force 
to make the sparks fly out ; but the Earl’s spear held 
the better of the two, and to the delight of his party 
he unhelmed his opponent very smartly. 

This was the first clear point scored by either 
side, and the English partisans showed a natural but 
disproportionate exultation. Huntingdon himself was 
so elated that he sent Swynnerton with a herald to 
challenge Sempy, for the love of his lady, to run one 
more course. This, however, was disallowed by the 
judges, and the Earl was unhelmed by his squires, 
both parties applauding him so generously that he 
had no further temptation to ill-humour. 

His place was taken by the Earl Marshal, who sent 
to touch the war shield of Reynault de Roye. It was 
already known to everyone on the ground that he 
would do so, but the moment was an exciting one ; for 
the French champion had a great reputation, and there 
were few on the English side who had ever seen him 
in action. It was the more disappointing that the 


202 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

first course entirely failed, through the shying of both 
horses. At the second attempt Mowbray had a slight 
advantage, for he struck his enemy fair and broke his 
spear. But the third course went against him, for 
though both helms were struck, and apparently with 
equal certainty, de Roye passed on and made his turn, 
while the Englishman was unhelmed and dazed by the 
blow. 

Lord Clifford, who followed him, was greeted warmly 
by the French, for they had heard that he was a cousin 
of their old enemy, the famous Chandos. He was 
successful in unhelming Boucicaut at the second attempt, 
but in his next course suffered the same fate at the 
hands of Sempy. 

Boucicaut was somewhat shaken by Clifford’s stroke, 
but recovered in time to take a signal revenge on the 
next English champion. This was Sir Henry Beaumont, 
who had the misfortune to cross ahead of his opponent, 
and so close to him that Boucicaut was able by a brilliant 
shot to catch him full as he passed and drive him head- 
long over the crupper. An overthrow such as this 
counted more than double the points given for un- 
helming an adversary. The first decisive success had 
fallen to the French, and the English party were con- 
siderably sobered by it. But there was at least one 
among them whose spirit nothing could affect. Sir 
Piers Courtenay had seen and felt too many hard knocks 
in England, France, and Spain, to care very much 
whether it was upon his own head or his opponent’s 
that the next would fall. His young squire, Dennis, 
cantered gaily up to the elm-tree, and, with the breezy 
confidence of a true Devonian, struck the war shield 
of all three challengers in succession. 


AMONG THE CHAMPIONS 203 

This all-round defiance seemed to astonish the French 
as much as it delighted the English party, and Sir 
Piers was invited to explain what meaning he wished 
to be put upon his challenge. He replied that if 
the judges allowed three courses against each of two 
antagonists, they might as well allow two courses 
against each of three ; and they had, in fact, pro- 
claimed the extra allowance to anyone wishing to 
run against 4 more than one ’ opponent. The claim 
was held to be as reasonable as it was spirited, and all 
three of the French champions appeared at the entrance 
of their pavilions accordingly. 

The first match was against de Roye, who dishelmed 
his man at the second attempt. Courtenay, however, 
took this misfortune with supreme good humour, and, 
as he cantered off with his helm dangling down, he 
called out to his victorious enemy, who was also an 
old friend, 4 Mind yourself, Reynault ; there are bigger 
men coming ! 5 

He took Sempy next and had an ample revenge. 
The Frenchman missed, and though his spear took 
Courtenay crossways on the breast, it did not spoil 
his stroke ; Sempy’s helm flew off like a Turk’s head 
from a post. The last match was the most even of 
the three — once the combatants staggered each other 
with a full point in the shield, and in the second course 
they unhelmed each other precisely at the same moment. 

Sir Piers then begged hard for one more chance, 
against any one of the three challengers ; but he was 
refused, as a matter of course, and made way for the 
next comer. This was Sir John Golafre, one of the 
4 bigger men 5 of whom Courtenay had spoken, and 
the same who had desired to be entered as 4 first weak- 


204 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

ling.’ The joke was passed round again as he rode 
out, a gigantic figure topped with a bush of red, white, 
and black plumes, and the hopes of all his party beat 
high, for he was to run a single match against the great 
de Roye. 

The first course showed the determination of the 
combatants, for they rode at a pace that no one had 
yet approached ; but it was indecisive, each striking 
the other fair on the helm without scoring. At the 
second attempt the horses were both out of hand and 
refused to cope ; the sight of their wild swerve only 
raised the excitement of the spectators to a still higher 
pitch. In the third course, both men chose the body 
stroke, and the shock was tremendous ; both spears 
splintered to the truncheon, and it seemed a miracle 
that de Roye could have borne up against the weight 
of such an avalanche of steel. The fourth course 
was taken so fast that both spears missed ; in the 
fifth they came together still faster, amid the wildest 
excitement, and John’s heart bounded as if he had 
been struck himself, when he saw the two helmless 
champions parting in their padded coifs. The best 
match of the day was over, and it had ended in a draw. 

There remained only two English knights to take 
their turn that afternoon, and neither of these was 
strong enough to try de Roye. One — Sir John Russel — 
ran level with Sempy ; the other provided a surprise, 
for he defeated Boucicaut, unhelming him so sharply 
as to draw blood, and then fell from his saddle before 
the less formidable Sempy. 

The day was over, and the points were twenty-four 
to fifteen against England — at least so said John’s 
friends, Tom and Edmund, and they had kept the 


AMONG THE CHAMPIONS 205 

score minutely. J ohn only knew, when he reached his 
lodging, that he was as tired as he had ever been in 
his life ; and yet he had been sitting still for more 
than five hours out of seven. 

He found the second day much less fatiguing. As 
he had no grand entry to make, and no chance of jousting 
till the Thursday, he was able to discard his armour and 
attend in comfort upon a hack. He also got a far more 
ample meal, in the big dining-tent which Boucicaut 
had erected behind the pavilions, for the use of all 
comers ; and now that he had to some extent worked 
off the feverish excitement which had at first kept 
him on the stretch, he enjoyed himself a good deal, 
and would have done so still more if the game had gone 
less steadily against his own side. 

It was evident, almost from the beginning, that the 
disadvantage, which looked so great at first sight, of 
having to meet a continual succession of fresh opponents, 
counted in practice for very little when weighed against 
the superior training and experience of the French 
champions. They rode as well as if they had been 
resting for a week past ; whereas, on the Monday, 
Boucicaut had been worsted by Clifford and Shirburne, 
and Sempy by Courtenay and Huntingdon, on Tuesday 
only four out of eleven Englishmen succeeded in even 
making a drawn match. 

The interest in the meeting centred more and more 
in de Roye, who was to-day summoned only three 
times, while his two companions had each to meet four 
antagonists. Sir William Stamer, the new-made knight, 
showed more courage than prudence in attempting 
him ; but he was ambitious of proving to his kinsman, 
the Earl of Huntingdon, that his honours were deserved. 


206 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

In the first course he lost his spear ; in the second, he 
made a bad swerve, and was all but thrown in spite 
of it. The third was a good encounter; but at the 
fourth he was dishelmed and again driven back, almost 
to the ground. 

Sir Godfrey Seeker, a Kentish knight, fared even 
worse, though he was a more experienced j ouster. 
In his third course he actually succeeded in dishelming 
de Roye ; but the Frenchman, with the determination 
which never seemed to fail him for a moment, drove on 
through Seeker’s targe and through his armour as well ; 
the spear broke half-way up, and the end remained 
fixed in the shield and in the knight’s fore-arm. With 
such a wound, the Englishman did well to make his 
turn and come to his place in good style ; but the 
match was drawn, and there was no more running 
for him. 

|The last of his side to-day was Swynnerton; and 
though he certainly was not de Roye’s equal in skill, 
his great strength and weight gave his friends some 
hope of a success. He came through his first course 
well, in spite of a shield stroke that almost unseated 
him and would have broken the back of a weaker man. 
At the second encounter both riders took the high 
point, and the spears flashed finely ; but the third 
was fatal — the Frenchman unhelmed Roger with a 
stroke that seemed to stun both man and horse. 

The day was over, and once more the points were 
against England. 6 Twenty-six to eight ! ’ said the 
boys ruefully, as they rode home among the squires. 

‘ Wait until to-morrow ! ’ cried Savage, with his 
usual gaiety. To-morrow was his day, and he was 
still sanguine. 


THE FORTUNE OF JOHN MARLAND 207 

Edmund thought the matter was being treated 
lightly, and remonstrated. 6 N-no, but I say, why do 
they beat us like this ? we always win the b-battles, 
don’t we?’ 

6 No, my friend,’ growled Swynnerton, whose head 
was aching ; 4 the archers win them for us.’ 

4 But they’re not gentlemen,’ said Tom. 

4 Good God ! ’ said Swynnerton with an angry snort, 

4 when a man wins, who cares what he is ? ’ 

5. The Fortune of John Marland 

Wednesday was warm and fine, and the combatants, 
as they came away from mass in the new English 
church, talked hopefully once more. The three knights 
on Huntingdon’s list who still remained available 
against de Roye were all first-rate men, and there 
were one or two squires to run who had promised well, 
though it was admitted that none of them could be 
expected to fly at such high game. Savage, however, 
knew better than that, and it was hardly his fault if 
the rest of his world did not know it too ; for he talked 
and laughed in his most excitable manner, unrepressed 
even by Swynnerton’s downright rebukes. 

4 Because you’ve a black eye yourself, Roger,’ he 
replied, 4 you see everyone else all over bruises.’ 

‘ Well,’ retorted the damaged champion, 4 there are 
plenty more where I got mine.’ 

The good-humour in his growl touched Savage. 

‘ I know,’ he said, 4 1 know I’m not fit to fasten 
your galoshes, Roger, but hope must count for something, 
and I’d give my whole bag of bones to see how de Roye 
looks the other way up.’ 

4 So would I,’ added John, with equal fervour. 


208 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

Swynnerton laughed his loud short laugh. 6 T’other 
way up ! So you will,’ he said, ‘ one or both of 
you ! ’ 

John repudiated this dismal prophecy for himself, 
but privately he felt less confident about his friend. 
Savage was certainly fearless ; but he had no great 
experience, and was not yet come to his full weight. 
Moreover, he was first on the order of running for the 
day, and would have to face de Roye at his freshest, 
if he persisted in trying him after all. 

Two hours later, these misgivings were all falsified. 
Savage did not achieve the miracle he hoped for ; but 
he ran a very spirited match with his great antagonist, 
and came off upon equal terms with loud applause. 

He had noted the Frenchman’s methods, his great 
pace, his more frequent choice of the shield-stroke, and 
his trick of bending suddenly forward at the moment 
of the cope. All these he adopted in his first course, 
and brought off an encounter which was voted second 
to none that had yet been seen. Both men struck 
fair, and at such a pace both must have been thrown 
if their weapons had not given way. As it was, the 
spears splintered right up to their hands, and each 
left his point firmly embedded in his opponent’s shield. 
The shock was so loud that everyone on the ground 
feared one or both had been seriously injured, and 
Savage’s friends, when he came back to his place, tried 
hard to persuade him to be content with the danger 
and glory of one such encounter. 

‘ Not at all,’ he said airily ; ‘ I did not face a Channel 
crossing to run only a single course.’ 

The words were repeated to de Roye, who had sent 
to hear his decision. He declared the answer most 


THE FORTUNE OF JOHN MARLAND 209 

reasonable, and two more courses were arranged. Of 
these the first was a failure, for the horses crossed ; 
but the final one was again astonishingly good, both 
men being unhelmed in the best style. 

The two Holland boys, by John’s side, were jumping 
with excitement. 4 1 would rather be Savage than 
anyone on the ground, wouldn’t you ? ’ Tom asked. 

John smiled at the young enthusiast. 4 Not I, 9 
he replied ; 4 what’s past is past.’ 

Tom looked quickly at him and seized the point. 

4 If you do as well to-morrow,’ he said, 4 1 shall 
think as well of you.’ 

4 Weathercock ! ’ remarked Edmund in his breath- 
less way. He was hugging Savage’s damaged shield, 
with the spear-head still in the centre of it. 

Savage himself now joined them on his hackney, 
and the game went on. 

Baskerville lost to Boucicaut ; Stapleton drew with 
Sempy ; Scott tried the same champion and unhelmed 
him at the second course, but was himself rolled head- 
long at the third. These were but chickens, and 
expectation rose higher when a full-fledged cock of 
the game rode out to meet de Roye. This was Sir 
John Arundel, a well-known dancing man and always 
good for a song, but his popularity did not rest only 
upon his social gifts, for he rode straight and hard. 

Of his five courses four were brilliant, and he parted 
on even terms. 

Two more squires fell an easy prey to Boucicaut, 
and then came the turn of Sir John Clinton, an ambitious 
young knight in fine armour. He bore the blue chief 
and silver mullets of his famous house, but to distinguish 
his shield from that of his kinsman Sir Nicholas, the 


210 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

white field of it was fretted with azure. His reputation 
was good, and de Roye greeted his summons with a 
courteous word of welcome. The match was a splendid 
one ; but the five courses ended in a draw, each having 
at last succeeded in unhelming the other. 

And now, after Sempy had defeated young Roger 
Low, the supreme moment of the day was reached. 
The last combatant officially told off to meet de Roye 
was moving forward amid loud cheers. D’Ambreci- 
court his grandfather and father had been called in 
their day, for they belonged to Hainault ; but Sir 
John was English born and bred, by the name of 
Dabridgecourt, and differenced the red bars on their 
ermine shield with escallop shells of silver. He wore 
a coronet on his helm and towering plumes, like a 
prince ; and there was something princely, too, in the 
simplicity with which he rode to the elm-tree himself 
to deliver his summons, as if he had been no more 
than a squire. 

The first course of this match was run in breathless 
silence ; fire flashed from both helms as the spears 
glanced off them, and a low murmur went round the 
ground, for the pace was terrific. The second course 
was even faster, and the spears were splintered like 
glass. The spectators drew in their breath sharply, 
and looked at each other with a kind of awe ; the 
atmosphere seemed to have suddenly changed, and 
the game to be greater than they had known ; they 
felt that the men before them feared neither pain nor 
death. 

A third time the thunder and the crash came — it 
seemed to John that he himself was stunned ; but a 
moment afterwards he recognised the sound of his 


THE FORTUNE OF JOHN MARLAND 211 


own voice as if it had been a stranger’s, shouting madly 
with the rest. Dabridgecourt was turning at the far 



* De Roye sat dishelmed and beaten upon his motionless charger.’ 


end of the lists, and in the middle, among the wreckage 
of the spears, de Roye sat dishelmed and beaten upon 
his motionless charger. 

The boys overtook John on his way to the field next 



212 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

day. They were brimful of his secret and bubbling 
with excitement. Tom gave advice with the air of 
proprietorship, to which Edmund listened with un- 
disguised impatience. 

4 St-tiffen your wrist, and your b-back — st-tiffen 
everything except your n-nose,’ was his parody of his 
brother. 

4 Children don’t understand these things,’ retorted 
Tom ; 4 my uncle and I have been discussing them 
this morning.’ 

John pricked up his ears : 4 Discussing what ? ’ 

4 Well, he said there would be no dogs for the big 
bear to-day, and I said I knew of one — of course I 
didn’t say the name.’ 

4 Anything more ? ’ asked John. 

4 Yes ; he said he was sorry for the dog, because the 
bear had a sore head.’ 

John laughed, not altogether comfortably ; but 
he reflected that, after all, even de Roye could not do 
better than his best, and he had probably been doing 
that already. 

There he was wrong, as he soon discovered. 

The day began tamely with a couple of drawn 
matches. Then a third Englishman rode out ; but he, 
too, chose Boucicaut, and was beaten. He was followed 
by Herr Hansse, a Bohemian knight in the Queen’s 
service ; a big man this one— but he, too, contented 
himself with summoning Boucicaut. It seemed evident 
that de Roye’s work was over, now that the official 
list of his opponents was exhausted, and both sides 
openly regretted it. 

But the day was not destined to end as tamely as 
it had begun. In his first course the Bohemian rode 


THE FORTUNE OF JOHN MARLAND 213 

right into his opponent, and struck at him with his 
spear after the collision was seen to be unavoidable. 

In the opinion of the judges, the action was deliberate 
from beginning to end, and they decided that Herr 
Hansse had forfeited armour and horse, according to 
the rules. 

This incident caused a long interruption of the 
sport, for though Boucicaut at once refused to take 
advantage of the forfeiture, he was opposed by the 
majority of his own side. They urged, with much good 
sense, that the utmost severity should be enforced 
against an unfair trick, which might easily have caused 
the entire defeat of the challengers by putting one of 
their number out of action for the rest of the thirty 
days. The English, too, were divided. Many were 
anxious to save the credit of one who, though a 
foreigner, was a member of their team ; but others 
feared still more lest the Bohemian, if pardoned, might 
doubly embarrass them by snatching a victory after all. 

This last argument came to the ears of the French 
and touched their pride. They agreed at once to 
renounce the forfeit and let the Bohemian do his worst. 
Herr Hansse, in his turn, was stung by this, and when 
asked with whom he wished to continue the contest, 
he defiantly named de Roye. 

Such unexpected good fortune restored the interest 
of the combat at once, and when the Bohemian was 
re-armed, and the two champions took their places 
the silence was as intense and breathless as it had 
been the day before. 

The suspense was soon over — de Roye was in no 
mood to strike twice. The big Bohemian seemed to 
be but a straw before him as he swept him from the 


214 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

saddle, bent him across, and tossed him broken from 
his path. 

‘ Dead, by God ! 5 said Huntingdon. No one else 
spoke a word ; the sight was too much like an execution. 

Fortunately Herr Hansse proved to be not dead, 
nor even seriously injured, though he was completely 
disabled. A buzz of eager talk broke out, every detail 
of the stroke was discussed, and no one paid any 
attention to the next match, in which Sempy defeated 
a squire of average merit. 

6 John Marl and, do you run ? ’ said the quiet, 
business-like voice of a herald. 

John replied with icy calm, and, indeed, he felt 
as if he were all turned to ice except his heart, which 
was beating like a hammer upon a red-hot anvil. He 
made a little jest as Savage buckled his helmet, and 
was sure his voice had quavered. When the spear 
was put into his hand, he shook it in correct professional 
style, and wondered if the others saw the trembling 
that he felt. But he had never been more alive, never 
more keen- eyed or tightly strung. 

‘ Remember,’ said Savage in a low voice, ‘ the high 
stroke first ; then the shield ; and come forward 
sharply at the cope.’ 

A moment afterwards a loud shout went up from 
all parts of the ground — the squire whom nobody 
knew was seen to have passed by the targes of Bouci- 
caut and Sempy ; amid a hurricane of applause, his 
spear touched the war shield of de Roye. 

The noise came dimly to John’s ears inside his 
padded nutshell of steel ; but he saw hands and caps 
waving ; and, as he came back to his place, his charger 
seemed to be stepping on a lonely height above the 


THE FORTUNE OF JOHN MARLAND 215 

clouds. Then the muffled trumpet-note took all sense 
from him for a moment ; he woke to see his adversary’s 
helm so near and clear that to miss it would have been 
impossible. Not till he had struck it, and passed on, 
did he feel, or remember to have felt, a sharp blow 
upon his own vizor. He made his turn with perfect 
ease ; everything seemed easier than it had ever been 
before. All round him the waving and far-off noise 
continued. 

He levelled his spear again — for the body-stroke 
this time : he saw his opponent was doing the same. 
He fixed his eyes upon de Roye’s shield : 6 Gules with a 
bend silver,’ he repeated to himself, to pass the time, 
for it seemed long before the trumpet sounded. 

At last he was off, quite wide awake now, and 
spurring his charger. He came forward smartly for 
the shock, and felt that he had saved himself by doing 
so. The horses reeled apart, the spears vanished without 
breaking, and John found himself pushing a half- stunned 
charger into a canter for the turn. A moment later 
half a dozen hands were on his bridle, his helm was 
off, his coif laid back, and the full roar of cheering 
broke on his ears. 

6 He owes me one more, doesn’t he ? ’ he asked. 

‘ One more,’ replied the Earl’s voice, 4 and I owe 
you a gold chain, if you win.’ 

But knighthood and gold chains seemed as little 
now to John as any other of the small affairs of life. 
He was concerned with states of being, not with 
things. 

4 Thank you, my lord,’ he said, and felt his mouth 
stiff and salt as he spoke : he was breathing hard, 
too, and losing that delightful keenness of the senses. 


216 FRANCE v. GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND 

He took a deep chestful of air, mounted his second 
charger, and put on his helm. There was the red and 
white shield again, but it was less bright now ; and the 



* He knew nothing more till he felt cold water splashing over his face. ( 


spear, which they had picked up and brought back 
to him, seemed a little heavier than before. 

At what a pace that shield was coming : he must 
get forward — forward — ah ! — late ! He knew it, and 
knew nothing more till he felt cold water splashing 
over his face. 


THE FORTUNE OF JOHN MARLAND 217 

Above him, the Earl was looking down from his 
saddle with the unmoved expression of one who handles 
a dead rabbit. 

4 So the crock is not. broken this time,’ he said, and 
presently added, 4 You wished to enter my service, 
I believe ? 5 

John tried in vain to collect his senses. He had but 
one feeling left — the desire to escape the presence of 
those eyes. He saw the boys by their uncle’s side : 
any shelter seemed better than none. 

4 1 am pledged to my Lord Thomas,’ he said. 

4 It is the same thing,’ said the Earl, turning care- 
lessly away, and John was left to the congratulations 
of his friends. 


THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

1. The Boyhood of a Good Knight 

Pierre Terrail, Lord of Bayard, and one of the 
greatest knights of France, has been known to all 
Christendom for the last four hundred years by the 
title of ‘ Le chevalier sans peur et sans reproche.’ 
Everywhere and at all times since his death, his name 
has stood for the very type of chivalry : his renown is 
so much greater than that of other fighting men that 
those who hear of it for the first time may well ask the 
cause of this. The answer is that Bayard’s character 
still shines out of the twilight of history, even more 
brightly than his deeds in arms. He gained high honour 
in the wars, but he is remembered not so much for what 
he did as for what he was himself : a hard fighter, but 
always generous, unselfish and merciful : a loyal friend 
and subject, but never to be commanded or persuaded 
against his conscience : and yet, for all his scrupulous- 
ness, he was full of good sense and good humour. 

His life was written immediately after his death, 
in 1524, by Jacques de Mailles, 6 the Faithful Servant ’ 
who was with him in all his wars. He begins with an 
account of the family from which his master came. 

In the county of Dauphine, he says, are many good 
and great houses of gentlemen, whence such a number 
of noble and virtuous knights have issued that their 
218 


THE BOYHOOD OF A GOOD KNIGHT 219 

fame is spread throughout all Christendom. Insomuch 
that as scarlet is the most excellent of all hues of cloth, 
the Dauphinese, without disparaging the nobility of 
other lands, have been called, by all who had any know- 
ledge of them, the Scarlet of the Gentlemen of France. 
Among which houses is that of Bayard, of ancient and 
noble extraction, as by those who have come of it hath 
been clearly demonstrated. For at the battle of Poitiers 
the great-great-grandfather of the good knight with- 
out fear and without reproach died at the feet of King 
John of France. At the battle of Agincourt his great- 
grandfather was slain. At the battle of Montlhery 
his grandfather remained on the field with six mortal 
wounds, beside others, and at the battle of Guinegate 
his father was so badly wounded that he could never 
after leave his own house. A short time before his 
death, considering that by nature, which already began 
to fail in him, he could make no long sojourning in this 
mortal state, he called four children that he had into 
the presence of his wife, a very godly and devout lady, 
sister to the Bishop of Grenoble. His children having 
appeared before him, he asked the eldest, who was 
about eighteen or twenty years old, what he wished 
to be. He replied that his desire was never to leave 
home, but to serve him at the end of his days. 4 Very 
w r ell, George,’ said the father, 4 since thou lovest home, 
thou shalt stay here to fight the bears.’ 

The second, which was the good knight 4 without 
fear and without reproach,’ a lad then about thirteen 
years of age or little more, blithe as a lark, and of 
laughing countenance, being asked what calling he 
should prefer, replied as though he were fifty years 
old : 4 My lord and father, although filial piety maketh 


220 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

it a bounden duty in me to forego all things for the sake 
of serving you at the end of your life, nevertheless so 
deeply graven in my heart are the good discourses 
which you daily hold respecting the noble men of times 
past, especially those of our house, that I am resolved, 
if it be your pleasure, to embrace that profession which 
you and your predecessors have been of, the profession 
of arms ; for this is the thing for which I have the 
greatest desire, and I hope, with the grace of God, to 
do you no dishonour.’ Then the good old man, with 
tears in his eyes, replied : ‘ My child, God grant that it 
may be so ! In face and figure already thou resemblest 
thy grandfather, who was in his time one of the best 
knights in Christendom. I will therefore take pains 
to put thee in the way of obtaining thy desire.’ The 
third and fourth brothers chose to be monks, and in 
the end each in turn became Bishop of Glandeves in 
Provence. 

The next day a letter was sent to the Bishop of 
Grenoble, who came thereupon to spend the night at 
the house of Bayard, where he found his brother-in-law 
sitting in a chair near the fire, as people of his age are 
commonly wont to do. They consulted together about 
Peter, and the Bishop said : ‘ My brother, you know 
that a close friendship subsists between us and Charles, 
Duke of Savoy, and he reckons us of the number of his 
good servants. I believe that he will take Peter with 
pleasure as one of his pages. He is at Chambery, near 
this place. If it seem good to you, I will take the boy 
thither to-morrow morning, after having put him in 
proper trim and furnished him with a good little horse, 
which I got three or four days since from the Lord of 
Uriage.’ Immediately thereupon the Bishop sent to 


THE BOYHOOD OF A GOOD KNIGHT 221 

the town to seek his tailor, whom he ordered to bring 
velvet, satin and other necessary materials. He came 
and worked all night, so that next morning everything 
was ready. 

After breakfast, young Bayard mounted his horse 
and presented himself to all the company, which were 
in the lower court of the castle, equipped just as if he 
were to be presented forthwith to the Duke of Savoy. 
The horse, feeling so light a burden upon him, and being 
moreover pricked by the young rider with his spurs, 
made three or four leaps, whereat the company were 
afraid that he would do the boy a mischief. But while 
they were expecting to hear him cry out for help, he 
with a stout heart, as bold as a lion, when he found the 
horse make such a stir under him, spurred him three or 
four times and made him gallop round the said court, 
insomuch that he brought the animal under as well 
as if he had been thirty years old. It need not be 
asked whether the good old man were pleased ; and 
smiling with joy, he asked his son if he were not afraid — 
for he had left school hardly a fortnight. He answered 
with a steady countenance : 4 My lord, I hope with God’s 
aid, before six years are over, to make either him or 
some other bestir himself in a more dangerous place. 
For here I am among friends, and I may then be among 
the enemies of the master whom I shall serve.’ 

‘ Now come along,’ said the good Bishop, who was 
ready to depart, 4 dismount not, my nephew and friend, 
but take leave of all the company.’ Then the boy took 
leave of his father and all the gentlemen who were 
there. His mother, poor lady, was in a tower of the 
castle, weeping tenderly : for although she was delighted 
that her son was in the way to do well, maternal love 


222 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

prompted her to shed tears. However, when they came 
to tell her that, if she wished to see her son, he was on 
horseback, ready to depart, the good lady went out by 
the back of the tower, and making him come near to 
her, said these words : 4 Peter, my dear, you are going 
into the service of a noble prince : as far as a mother 
can command her child, I command you three things, 
which if you do, rest assured they will make you to 
pass through this present life with honour. The first 
is, that above all things you love and serve God, with- 
out offending Him in any way, if it be possible to you. 
Recommend yourself to Him every morning and evening, 
and He will give you aid. The second is that you be 
mild and courteous to all gentlemen, putting away from 
you all pride. Be humble and serviceable to all people, 
be not a slanderer or a liar, keep yourself temperate 
in eating and drinking. Avoid envy, for it is a mean 
vice. Be neither a flatterer nor a tale-bearer, for people 
of this description do not usually attain to any high 
degree of excellence. Be faithful in deed and word — 
keep your promises. Succour poor widows and orphans, 
and God will reward you. The third is, that of the 
goods that God shall give you, you be bountiful to the 
poor and needy ; for to give for His honour’s sake never 
made any man poor ; and believe me, my child, the 
alms that you shall dispense will greatly profit both 
your body and soul. This is all that I have to charge 
you with. I believe that your father and I shall not 
live much longer ; but God grant that whilst we do 
continue in life we may always have a good report of 
you.’ 

Then the good lady took out of her sleeve a little 
purse, containing only six crowns in gold and one in 


THE BOYHOOD OF A GOOD KNIGHT 223 

small money, and gave it to her son. She also called 
one of the servants of her brother the Bishop, and 
delivered to him a little valise in which was some 
linen for her son’s use ; with a request that when the 
boy should be presented to my Lord of Savoy, he 
would pray the servant of the equerry in whose charge 
he should be, ,to be pleased to look after him a little, 
until he grew older ; and she entrusted the man with 
two crowns to give him. Hereupon the Bishop took 
leave of all the company, and called his nephew, who, 
so long as he was on the back of his good pony, thought 
himself in paradise. So they took the direct road to 
Chambery, where Duke Charles of Savoy was at that 
time residing. 

Next day, which was Sunday, the Bishop rose very 
early and went to wait upon the Duke, who received him 
with a smiling countenance. They discoursed together 
all along the road from his residence to the church. 
When mass was ended the Duke took him home with him 
to dinner, during which his nephew Bayard served 
him to drink in an orderly manner, and behaved himself 
very prettily. The Duke took notice of this, and asked 
the Bishop, 6 My Lord of Grenoble, who is this young 
child that gives you to drink ? ’ 6 My lord,’ replied 

the other, 4 he is a man of arms whom I am come to 
present you with, to enter your service, if you please ; 
but he is not in the condition in which I am desirous 
of giving him to you : after dinner, if it be your pleasure, 
you shall see him.’ k Truly,’ said the Duke, who had 
already taken a liking to him, 4 he must be a strange 
man who would refuse such a present.’ 

After dinner, Bayard went to his lodging for his horse, 
had it saddled, mounted, and came ambling to the 


224 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

court of the house of the Duke, who had already come 
out of his hall and was leaning over a gallery. Seeing 
the boy enter and make his horse carrol like a man of 
thirty who had seen war all his life, he said to the Bishop, 
4 1 suppose this is your little favourite, who rides his 
horse so well ? ’ He replied, 4 My lord, he is my nephew, 
and come of a good race, from which noble knights have 
sprung. His father, who is so wasted with years and 
infirmities, as also with wounds received in wars and 
battles, that he is not able to wait upon you, commends 
himself very humbly to your good graces, and makes 
you a present of him. 5 ‘ In good faith,’ said the Duke, 
4 1 accept him willingly : the present is a good and 
handsome one, and God make him a brave man ! ’ 

2. Tourneys, Wars, and Challenges 

Bayard remained page with Duke Charles for the 
space of half a year, during which time he gained the 
love of people of all degrees. He was serviceable to 
the lords and ladies, even to a marvel. He leaped, 
wrestled, threw the bar, according to his size, and, 
among other things, rode a horse as well as it was possible, 
so that his good master conceived as great an affection 
for him as if he had been his own son. 

At this time the Duke went to Lyons to see the 
young King Charles of France, one of the best princes, 
one of the most courteous, liberal, and charitable, that 
ever hath been seen or read of. He loved and feared 
God, and never swore, except by the faith of my body 
or some such little oath. Now one of the King’s gentle- 
men, the Lord of Ligny, casting his eye on the young 
Bayard upon his horse, which was trotting daintily 
and showing him off to wonderful advantage, said to 


TOURNEYS, WARS, AND CHALLENGES 225 

the Duke, 4 On my faith, this is a young gentleman 
who in my opinion will become a noble gallant if he 
lives, and I think you will do well to make a present 
of the page and of the horse to the King.’ And the 



The young Bayard shows his courage on horseback. 


next day he spoke of him to the King, who went to 
see the young Bayard upon the field upon his horse, 
in company with his equerry. So he cried out to him, 
4 Page, my friend, spur your horse ’ ; which he did, 
and at the end of the course he made him take three 
or four leaps, and then returned at full gallop towards 

Q 


226 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

the King and stopped him quite short before him. 
Then the King said to the Duke, 4 Cousin, it is impossible 
to ride a horse better ’ ; and turning to the page he 
said, 6 Spur him, spur him again.’ At these words the 
pages cried to him, 4 Spur, spur, picquez, picquez ! ’ 
so that for some time afterwards he was called Picquet. 
4 Truly,’ said the King to the Duke, 4 1 will not wait 
for you to give me your page and your horse, but I 
beg him of you.’ Then he put the page under the 
care of the Lord of Ligny, and truly a better school 
he could not have had than the house of France, 
where honour hath made its abode at all times. Three 
years he was page with the Lord of Ligny, who put 
him out of that situation at the age of seventeen, 
and appointed him to his own company of guards, 
though he still retained him among the gentlemen of 
his household. 

After three years there came to Lyons a Burgundian 
gentleman, named Messire Claude de Vauldre, a man 
of great skill in arms, and marvellously given thereto. 
He obtained permission from the King, in order to pre- 
serve all the young gentlemen from sloth and idleness, 
to hold a tourney, on foot and on horseback, with career 
of lance and stroke of battle-axe, and he caused his 
shields to be hung up, which all who had a mind to 
prove their hardihood came and touched. Bayard, 
who was now called by everyone Picquet, was at this 
time little more than seventeen years of age, and 
had only been dismissed from being page some three 
days. He touched the shields, entered the lists, and 
there made his first essay, which was a rough enough 
beginning, for he had to do with one of the most experi- 
enced and skilful knights in the world. Nevertheless 


TOURNEYS, WARS, AND CHALLENGES 227 

there was no man in the whole combat, on horseback 
or on foot, that played his part better than he ; inso- 
much that the ladies of Lyons awarded the honours 
of the day to him. After this tourney was ended, the 
Lord of Ligny said to him one morning : 4 Picquet, my 
friend, you have a rare beginning to your fortunes : 
the war is to be continued, and though I retain you 
in my household at three hundred francs a year and 
three horses, yet have I put you into my company. 
Go therefore to the garrison to see your comrades.’ 
He went thereupon to Aire, in Picardy, where, having 
already heard of his nobleness of heart, everyone desired 
to be acquainted with him. Accordingly, the day after 
his arrival, he caused a tourney to be proclaimed in 
Aire, for the sake of the ladies, wherein the most success- 
ful combatant was to receive a bracelet of gold, and a 
fine diamond to give to his lady. It lasted two days, 
and for a little tournament it displayed as good fighting 
as they who were at it had ever beheld in their lives. 
At last it was declared, both by gentlemen and ladies, 
that the best combatant of both days had been Bayard 
himself. They therefore referred it to him, as the 
gainer of the prizes, to bestow his presents where he 
should think fit. So he gave the prize of the first day 
to the Lord of Bellabre, and that of the second day to 
Captain David the Scot. 

Two years afterwards. King Charles resolved to go 
and conquer the Kingdom of Naples. This he easily 
accomplished, and in the battle of Fornova Bayard 
carried himself triumphantly above all the rest, in 
the company of the Lord of Ligny, and had two horses 
killed under him. The King, being told of it, gave him 
five hundred crowns, and Bayard in return presented 


228 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

him with the standard of some cavalry which he had 
captured. 

Not long after this King Charles died, and Louis Duke 
of Orleans became King and was consecrated at Rheims 
on May 27, 1498. He made war upon the Duke of 
Milan, and afterwards upon the Spaniards, who had 
retaken the city of Naples. In this war Bayard, who 
was in garrison at Monavino, one day rose early and 
went afield with about thirty young gentlemen ; and 
on the same day a Spanish gentleman, named Don 
Alonzo de Sotomayor, rode out with forty or fifty 
Spaniards. Such was the luck of the two captains 
that they spied each other at about the distance of 
a cannon-shot. Both were highly delighted, especially 
when they perceived that their force was sufficiently 
equal. Then Bayard and his companions lowered 
their visors, and crying 6 France ! France ! ’ put their 
horses to a great gallop to charge their adversaries ; 
who, with a fierce and sturdy countenance, riding at full 
speed, and crying ‘ Spain ! Santiago ! ’ received them 
full at their spear-points. But, as every one knows, 
in such affairs one side or the other must of necessity 
come off victorious ; so it befell that the good knight 
Bayard, in the last onset, broke through the Spaniards 
and called to Don Alonzo, * Yield, man of arms, or thou 
diest ! ’ ‘To whom,’ replied he, ‘ must I surrender ? ’ 

‘ To Captain Bayard,’ said the good knight. Thereat 
Don Alonzo yielded himself up and gave the good knight 
his sword. Then, on his return to garrison, Bayard, 
who was an adopted son of Dame Courtesy, gave to 
Don Alonzo one of the handsomest apartments in the 
castle, and a habit of his own, saying, ‘ Senor Don 
Alonzo, I am informed that you belong to a good and 


TOURNEYS, WARS, AND CHALLENGES 229 

great house, and what is better, that you are, in your 
own person, highly renowned for prowess ; wherefore 
I am resolved not to treat you as a captive. Give 
me but your word that you will not quit this castle 
without my leave, and you shall have no other prison* 
It is spacious ; you may take your pleasure here among 
the rest of us, till you have settled about your ransom 
and paid it, in regard to which you will find me very 
lenient.’ 

4 Captain,’ replied Don Alonzo, ‘ I thank you for 
your courtesy, and I assure you on my honour that I 
will never depart hence without your permission.’ But 
he did not keep his promise well, for within a fortnight 
afterwards he tried to steal away ; but the girths of 
his horse broke and he was retaken. When the good 
knight saw him brought back he said, 4 Ha ! How 
comes this, Don Alonzo ? ’ and Don Alonzo replied : 
4 1 thought not to do you any wrong ; you have set my 
ransom at a thousand crowns ; within two days I would 
have sent you that sum.’ But the good knight was 
angry and had him led to a tower and kept there for 
a fortnight, without, however, putting him into irons, 
or doing him any injury — on the contrary, he was so 
well treated with regard to his eating and drinking 
that he had every reason to be satisfied. At the end 
of seventeen days his ransom was paid, and he took 
leave of Bayard civilly enough. But before his de- 
parture he saw the good knight give away the whole 
of his ransom money to his soldiers, without retaining 
a single penny for himself. 

Don Alonzo then did an unjust thing. When his 
friends questioned him, he praised Bayard for a bold 
and liberal captain, but complained that, whether by 


230 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

his orders or not, he had not been treated like a gentle- 
man. This came to the knowledge of Bayard, who 
sent instantly for a clerk and dictated a letter to Don 
Alonzo, entreating him to withdraw his words and 
confess the good and honourable treatment he had 
received. 4 If you refuse to do this, 5 he said, 4 1 declare 
that I am resolved to make you retract your words, in 
mortal combat of your body against mine, on foot or 
on horseback as it likes you best. And so farewell. 5 
To this Don Alonzo made answer : 4 1 declare to you 
that I never unsay anything I have said, and that you 
are not the man to make me do so. Therefore, as to 
the combat you offer me atwixt us two, I accept it, 
between the present time and twelve or fifteen days 
hence. 5 The good knight was ill with an ague when he 
received this answer ; but sick as he was, he would not 
have exchanged it for ten thousand crowns. He sent 
back word immediately that he accepted the combat 
and the day named. 

When the day appointed had arrived, the Lord of 
La Palisse with two hundred men of arms conducted 
Bayard to the field mounted on a good charger and 
clothed all in white, in token of humility. But Don 
Alonzo bade the trumpeter, La Lune, tell him that he 
would fight on foot since it was his privilege to choose ; 
for he never imagined, seeing the good knight’s malady, 
that he would venture to fight on foot, and this looked 
as if Don Alonzo wished to avoid the lists. 

When Bayard heard what the trumpeter had to 
say, he remained awhile in thought, for he had had his 
ague that very day. Nevertheless, with the courage 
of a lion, he replied : 4 La Lune, my friend, go hasten 
him, and say this shall not stand in the way of his 


TOURNEYS, WARS, AND CHALLENGES 231 

redressing my honour, with God’s aid, to-day. I am 
ready to fight just in whatever way he chooses.’ He 
then had the field prepared, which was done merely 
by putting great stones side by side. When both had 
entered, the good knight threw himself on his knees 
and breathed a prayer to God ; then he stretched him- 
self out at full length and kissed the earth. That 
done, he rose, made the sign of the cross, and walked 
straight toward his enemy, as coolly as though he were 
in a palace, dancing among ladies. Don Alonzo also 
came steadily on, saying, 4 Lord Bayard, what want 
you with me ? ’ Whereto Bayard replied, c I wish to 
defend my honour ’ ; and without more words they 
rushed on each other, with a marvellous thrust of their 
rapiers. They made many passes without hitting each 
other. At last, when Don Alonzo raised his arm to make 
a pass, the good knight also raised his, but merely held 
the rapier aloft, and then, when that of his adversary 
was put by and himself uncovered, he gave him such a 
furious blow in the throat that, notwithstanding the 
goodness of his neck-piece, the rapier penetrated four 
inches therein, so that he could not draw it out again. 
Don Alonzo, feeling himself wounded to death, dropped 
his rapier and grappled the knight, who likewise seized 
him in manner of one wrestling, and they both fell 
together upon the ground. The good knight, alert and 
swift, takes his poignard and puts it in the nostrils of 
his enemy, saying, 4 Yield, Don Alonzo, or you die ! ’ 
But he could make no answer, having just expired. 
Then said his second, Don Diego di Quinones, 4 Lord 
Bayard, he is dead already ; you have conquered.’ 
Right sorry was the good knight, who would have given 
a hundred thousand crowns, had he possessed them, to 


282 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

have conquered him alive. Howbeit, he knelt down 
and gave God thanks, then kissed the earth three times, 
and said, ‘ Senor Don Diego, have I done enough ? ’ 
who replied mournfully, 4 Too much, Lord Bayard, for 
the honour of Spain.’ 4 You know,’ said the good 
knight, 4 that I have a right to do what I please with the 
body ; however, I restore it to you, and of a truth I 
would that it had fallen out otherwise, saving my 
honour.’ 

3. Love and Ladies 

On the return of the King of France from Italy, 
the good knight went to Carignan to visit the Duchess 
Blanche, formerly married to his first master, Duke 
Charles of Savoy. In her house was a very worthy 
dame named Madame de Frussas ; her husband was 
an honest gentleman, and master of the household. 
I must tell you that when the good knight was given 
as page to Duke Charles, this Madame de Frussas 
was a young lady-in-waiting, attendant upon the 
Duchess ; and thus, in the way young people have of 
associating together, they fell in love with one another, 
to such a point that, if they could have had their own 
way, paying little regard to consequences, they would 
have taken each other in marriage. But as you have 
already heard, Duke Charles sent Bayard to the King 
of France, whereby the two young lovers lost sight of 
one another for a long time, and for three or four years 
had no intercourse except by letters. 

During this time the lady married the Lord of 
Frussas, a rich man who took her for her personal 
graces ; for of the goods of fortune she had but few. 
But desiring, as a virtuous woman might, to let the 


LOVE AND LADIES 233 

good knight see that the honourable love she had borne 
him in former years still lasted, on his arrival at Carignan 
she showed him all the kindness and courtesy possible, 
and talked much about their youth and many other 
matters. This gentle Lady of Frussas was as perfect in 
beauty, and in a sweet and gracious manner of speaking, 
as any that could be anywhere found. She reminded 
the good knight of his success in his first attempt in 
arms against Messire de Vauldre, and of his other 
honours in tourney and battle, and praised him so 
highly that he blushed for shame. But to please and 
honour her, he resolved to hold a tourney at Carignan, 
and prayed her therefore that she would give him one 
of her sleeves. The next morning he proclaimed by 
a trumpeter that he would bestow a prize, consisting 
of his lady’s sleeve, with a ruby worth a hundred 
ducats appended thereto, upon him who should per- 
form the best in three strokes of the lance, without 
barriers, and twelve of the sword. All this was duly 
fulfilled to the admiration of everyone, and it was judged 
by the judges and by all present, that the good knight 
himself had gained the prize by the law of arms. But 
he, blushing with shame, refused it, saying that this 
honour was attributed to him wrongfully ; for if he 
had done anything well, the Lady of Frussas was the 
cause of it, she having lent him her sleeve, and that 
he referred it to her to bestow the prize where she 
thought fit. Whereupon the lady, being informed 
thereof, spoke these words : 4 Since my Lord of Bayard 
is good enough to say that my sleeve hath made him 
gain the prize, I will keep it all my life for his sake.’ 
The ruby she gave to the Lord of Mondragon, who was 
held to have done the best after him. Five days after- 


234 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

wards the good knight took leave of the Duchess, 
and then went to say farewell to his first love, the 
Lady of Frussas, who could not part from him without 
shedding tears ; and he, on his side, was greatly moved. 
This honourable love endured between them till death, 
and no year passed that they did not send presents to 
each other. 

I will now tell you of the great courtesy that the 
good knight showed to another lady, who was not of 
his friends but of his enemies. This was in the year 
1512, at the assault of Brescia, which town was then 
held by the Venetians against the French, under the 
Duke of Nemours. The good knight fought furiously 
at the first rampart, and was the first to pass it, and after 
him more than a thousand ; so that they gained the 
first fort, though not without much fighting. The 
good knight was wounded at the top of the thigh by 
a pike, which pierced so deep that the end broke and 
the steel, with part of the staff, remained in the wound, 
causing him such anguish that he surely thought he 
had received his death-blow. The blood gushed out 
from him in abundance ; so he was obliged to retire 
from the crowd with two of his archers, who staunched 
his wound as well as they could with their shirts, tearing 
them for the purpose. Then, when they saw that the 
citadel was won, they tore down a door from the first 
house they came to, and placing him thereon, carried 
him as gently as possible to the goodliest mansion in 
the neighbourhood. It was the house of a very rich 
gentleman, who had fled to a monastery; but his 
wife remained at home with two fair daughters, who 
were hid in a hay-loft under the hay. 

As soon as the archers knocked, she went and opened 


LOVE AND LADIES 235 

to them, and thereupon beheld the good knight, borne 
wounded in the manner described ; who immediately 
caused the door to be shut, saying to the archers, 4 On 
your lives, see that none come in here except my own 
people. Your coming to my aid hath hindered you 
from making some gain ; but be under no concern, 
you shall lose nothing by it in the end.’ The archers 
did as they were commanded, and he was carried into 
a very fine apartment, to which the lady of the house 
conducted them herself, and falling on her knees before 
him, spoke thus in French : 4 Noble lord, I present to 
you this house and all therein ; for I well know that 
it belongs to you by the rules of war ; but be pleased 
to spare our honour and our lives — my own and those 
of two young daughters that my husband and I have 
now at an age to marry.’ The good knight, who never 
had an evil thought, replied to her : 4 Madam, it may 
be that I shall not recover from this wound of mine ; 
but while I live, no wrong shall be done either to you 
or your daughters, any more than to myself. Only 
keep them in their chambers — let them not be seen, 
and I can assure you there is no man in my house 
who will presume to enter any place contrary to your 
pleasure ; further, you have here a gentleman who will 
not plunder you, but will do you all the courtesy that 
he can.’ When the good lady heard him speak thus 
virtuously, she was quite comforted, and went herself 
with one of the archers to fetch a surgeon, who lived 
only two houses off hers. The good knight then sent 
his steward and two archers to bring home the lady’s 
husband, whom he welcomed cheerily and bade him not 
be cast down, for in his house were none but friends. 

For about a month or five weeks did the good 


236 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

knight lie ill of his wound, without ever rising from his 
bed ; during which time the Duke of Nemouss came 
often to see him and said, ‘ My friend, do your best to 
get cured, for I know well we must give battle within 
a month, and I had rather lose my whole estate than 
that you should not be present, so great trust have I 
in you.’ The good knight replied, Be sure, my lord? 
that I will be carried thither in a litter rather than not 
go at all.’ The Duke made him many presents, and 
one day sent him five hundred crowns, which he gave 
to the two archers who had remained with him when 
he was wounded. 

At last he was ready to depart, and the lady of the 
house, who always looked upon her husband and her 
children as his prisoners, and all she possessed as his 
property, had many imaginations, considering that, if 
he chose to treat her and her husband rigorousty, he 
might take from them ten or twelve thousand crowns, 
they having an income of two thousand. So she resolved 
to make him a handsome present, believing that he 
would be satisfied therewith. On the morning of the 
day when he was to depart, she entered his apartment 
with one of her servants, carrying a little steel box ; 
she found him resting himself in a chair, after having 
walked up and down to exercise his leg by little and 
little. She fell upon both knees ; but he would not 
suffer her to say a word till she was seated by his side. 
Then she said, ‘ My lord, the favour that God showed 
me in directing you to this house hath been the saving 
of all our lives, together with the honour of our two 
daughters, which should be still dearer to them. More- 
over, neither have I nor the least of my people received 
the smallest offence, but perfect courtesy, and your 


LOVE AND LADIES 237 

men have not taken of the goods they found here the 
value of a farthing, without paying for it. My lord, 
I know well that we and all this household are your 
prisoners, to deal with according to your good pleasure, 
as likewise the goods herein contained. But I am come 
most humbly to supplicate you to have compassion 
upon us, with your accustomed generosity. Here is 
a little present which we make you ; be pleased to take 
it in good part.’ 

The good knight, who never in his life set any value 
on money, fell a-laughing and said, 4 Madam, how many 
ducats are there in this box ? ’ The poor lady replied, 
4 There are only two thousand five hundred ; but if 
you are not content therewith, we will produce a larger 
sum. 5 Then he said, 4 Madam, had you given me a 
hundred thousand crowns, I should not be so beholden 
to you as I am for your good cheer and kind attendance ; 
be assured that, wherever I may be, you will have a 
gentleman at your service, as long as God gives me 
life. For your ducats, I will have none of them — I 
thank you, but take them back. All my life long I 
have loved men better than money, and think not but 
that I go away as well pleased as if this town were in 
your gift and you had given it to me. 5 

The lady was astonied and threw herself again on 
her knees, whereupon the good knight bade her bring 
her two daughters, as he wished to bid them farewell ; 
for they had greatly solaced him during his illness, 
being accomplished singers and players upon the lute 
and virginals. When they came, they likewise threw 
themselves on their knees, and thanked him for their 
safety ; but he, almost in tears at seeing so much meek- 
ness and humility in these two beautiful girls, replied, 


238 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

4 Young ladies, you are doing what I ought to do, that 
is, thank you for your good company, for which I hold 
myself greatly in your debt. You must know that 



The Chevalier gives a thousand ducats to each of the daughters of 
his hostess. 


military men are not usually provided with pretty 
things to give to ladies. But the good lady your mother 
hath given me these ducats. I present each of you 
with a thousand, to aid you in marrying ; and by way 
of return, please you to pray for me— I ask nothing 



THE FOUNT OF HONOUR 239 

else of you.’ Then he said, 4 Madam, these other five 
hundred ducats I accept, to be distributed among the 
poor nuns of the convents that have been pillaged. 
I give you charge of them, as you know where there 
is most necessity ; and with that I take my leave of 
you.’ So he kissed all their hands in the Italian fashion, 
and the lady spoke thus : * Flower of Chivalry, with 
whom none can compare, God reward you both in this 
world and the next ! 5 

As he was leaving his chamber to get to horse, 
the two fair damsels came down and each made him 
a present, which they had worked during his illness. 
One was a pair of neat and pretty bracelets, made of 
beautiful hair, and gold and silver thread — the other 
a purse of crimson satin, most curiously wrought. He 
gave them many thanks, and to honour them the more 
he had the bracelets put upon his arms, and placed 
the purse in his sleeve, declaring that he would wear 
them as long as they lasted, for their sakes. Then the 
good knight got upon his horse and went to the French 
camp, where he arrived on the evening of the Wednesday 
before Easter, April the seventh ; and there both men 
of arms and adventurers made such joy that it seemed 
as if, by his coming, the army had received a re- 
inforcement of ten thousand men. 

4. The Fount of Honour 

In the year 1513 the King of France received informa- 
tion that King Henry the Eighth of England, the Em- 
peror Maximilian’s ally, had landed at Calais with a vast 
force, to enter into his country of Picardy ; whither, to 
oppose him, he immediately despatched a numerous 
army. The English, as soon as they had got into the 


240 


THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 


country, proceeded forthwith to lay siege to the town 
of Therouenne, and began to cannonade it. The King 
of England was not yet there in person, but in a few 
days he arrived. During his march to Therouenne, 
the good knight, with his company, attacked the rear, 
obliging them to draw up so close that they were forced 
to abandon a piece of ordnance which went by the 
name of St. John and was one of twelve, called the 
Twelve Apostles. 

The King of France had now come to Amiens and 
sent word that Therouenne must be victualled at all 
hazards. The French therefore appointed an expedi- 
tion for this purpose, but were defeated by the King 
of England, who had stationed ten or twelve thousand 
English archers and some other troops, with eight or 
ten guns, on a rising ground, so that when the French 
had gone by they might descend and cut them off : 
and so it fell out. The French in vain tried to regain 
their camp ; the good knight retired very sorrowfully, 
and over and over again turned upon his enemies 
with fourteen or fifteen men of arms who had stood 
by him. Upon a little bridge he made a stand, which 
gave time to those French who had returned, to put 
themselves in order and defend the camp. But soon, 
finding himself enclosed on both sides, he advised his 
people to surrender to the Burgundians, lest if the 
English archers came up they should be shot to pieces. 
The French, therefore, having no further means of 
resistance, surrendered ; but while each of the enemy 
was endeavouring to take his prisoner, the good knight 
espied, under some little trees, a gentleman in goodly 
attire, who by reason of the excessive heat he was in 
had taken off his helmet, and was so turmoiled and 


241 


THE FOUNT OF HONOUR 

weary that he cared not to be at the trouble of taking 
prisoners. Bayard spurred straight up to him, pointing 
his sword at his throat, and cried, * Surrender, or you 
are a dead man ! ’ Terribly dismayed was the gentle- 
man ; for he thought his whole company were taken, 
and he replied, 4 I give myself up — who are you ? ’ 
Said the good knight, 4 I am Captain Bayard, and I 
surrender to you — here is my sword.’ 

Then was the good knight conducted to the English 
camp and into the tent of that gentleman, who enter- 
tained him very well for three or four days. On the 
fifth the good knight said to him, 4 Sir, I wish that you 
would have me brought safely to the King my master’s 
camp, for I am tired of being here.’ 4 How ? ’ said the 
other. c We have not yet treated of your ransom.’ 

6 My ransom ? ’ said the good knight. 4 Your own you 
mean ; for you are my prisoner. And if, after you 
gave me your word, I surrendered to you, it was to 
save my life, and for no other reason.’ Great was the 
amazement of that gentleman, especially when the 
good knight added, 4 Sir, if you do not keep your word, 
I am confident I shall make my escape by some means 
or other ; and be assured that I shall insist upon doing 
battle with you afterwards.’ The gentleman knew not 
what reply to make, for he had heard much of Captain 
Bayard, and had no desire to fight him ; all the same, 
he was a courteous knight ; so he said, ‘ My Lord of 
Bayard, I wish to do only what is right by you ; I will 
accept the decision of the captains.’ 

Meantime the Emperor sent for the good knight, 
and gave him a wonderfully gracious reception, address- 
ing him thus : 4 Captain Bayard, my friend, it gives 
me very great pleasure to see you. Would to God that 


242 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

I had many such as you. I believe we were formerly 
companions in war ; methinks at that time it was 
said that Bayard never fled.* To which the good knight 
replied, 4 Sire, had I fled, I should not have been here 
now.’ Then the King of England coming in, the 
Emperor made him acquainted with the good knight, 
who was by him welcomed with great cordiality. They 
began talking of this retreat, and King Henry said that 
he had never seen people fly so nimbly and in such 
numbers, being chased by no more than four or five 
hundred horse. But the good knight said that they 
had express orders from their captains not to fight, 
and he added, ‘And you cannot but know, most high 
and mighty lords, that the noblesse of France are 
renowned throughout the world. I do not say that I 
ought to be of their number.’ ‘ In good sooth, my 
Lord of Bayard,’ said the King of England, ‘ if they 
were all like you, I should soon be forced to raise the 
siege of this town. But however that may be, you are 
a prisoner.’ ‘ Sire,’ said the good knight, ‘ I do not 
admit it, and I should like to appeal on the question 
to the Emperor and you.’ 

The gentleman was present to whom he had sur- 
rendered, after having had his word of honour. So 
Bayard gave them an account of the whole transaction, 
the gentleman saying, 4 What the Lord of Bayard tells 
you is perfectly true.’ The Emperor and the King of 
England looked at one another. Then the Emperor 
spoke first, and said that in his opinion Captain Bayard 
was no prisoner, but rather the gentleman prisoner to 
him ; howbeit, that for the courtesy he had shown 
him they should both be free one of the other, and 
that the good knight might depart when the King of 


243 


THE FOUNT OF HONOUR 

England should think fit ; and the King was of the 
same mind, and said that if he would remain on his 
faith, without bearing arms, for six weeks, he would 
afterwards give him leave to return, and that in the 
meantime he might visit the towns of Flanders. During 
this time he had Bayard solicited to enter his service, 
with many offers of reward ; but it was lost labour 
for his heart was wholly given to France. 

The Emperor and the King of England abode some 
time longer before Therouenne, which at length sur- 
rendered for want of food. They took also the city 
of Tournai, and then, the winter being now far advanced, 
withdrew each to his own dominions. In the following 
year they made peace with the King of France, who 
married King Henry’s sister Mary and altered his whole 
mode of living on her account ; for whereas he used to 
dine at eight in the morning and go to bed at six in 
the evening, he now dined at noon and often retired 
not to rest till midnight. Thereupon he fell sick at 
the end of the month of December, and died on January 
1, 1514, after midnight. He was succeeded on the 
throne by Francis the First, aged twenty years, as 
comely a prince as ever lived ; who, after his consecra- 
tion and coronation, which was the most pompous and 
splendid ever seen in France, began to make secret 
preparations for the conquest of the Duchy of Milan. 
Now the good knight, who always chose to be put fore- 
most when the army went forward, and hindermost 
when it retreated, was despatched in advance with 
his company to the confines of Dauphin^, and there by 
skill and valour he made prisoner the Lord Prospero 
Colonna, who had boasted that he would take Bayard 
like a pigeon in a cage. 


244 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

The King of France, who was much rejoiced at the 
capture of the Lord Prospero, as he had reason to be, 
now made his army march to within twelve or fifteen 
miles of Milan, where he was frantically attacked by 
a body of Swiss troops, who were in turn charged by 
the good knight and others, until it was so late that the 
combatants could not see each other. But by dawn 
the Swiss chose to renew the conflict, and went straight 
to the artillery of the French, which was liberally served 
up to them. Yet never fought men better, and the 
battle lasted three or four good hours. At length they 
were broken through and defeated, ten or twelve 
thousand dying on the field. The remnant retired in 
good order, and departed thence next day for their 
own land. 

On the evening of the Friday, when the battle ended 
to the glory of France, rejoicings were made in the 
camp. And some were found to have behaved better 
than others ; but above all it was determined that the 
good knight had approved himself such as he had ever 
done on all former occasions, and the King, desirous 
to do him signal honour, resolved to receive the order 
of knighthood from his hands ; wherefore, before he 
began to create knights, he called unto him the noble 
Chevalier Bayard, and said, ‘ My friend Bayard, I wish 
this day to be knighted by your hand, because the 
knight that hath fought on foot and on horseback in 
many battles is held and reported among all others the 
most worthy. Now thus it is with you, seeing that, in 
divers battles and conquests, you have valiantly fought 
against many nations.’ 

To the King’s words, Bayard made answer : ‘ Sire, 
he that is King of so noble a realm is knight above all 



Francis I, the King- of France, receives the order of 

Knighthood from Bayard. 











































































































* 














DEATH AND FAME 245 

other knights.’ 4 Howbeit, Bayard,’ said the King, 
‘ do quickly as I say : no laws or canons must be alleged 
here, save those of steel, of brass, or of iron. Obey 
my will and commandment, if you desire to be reckoned 
among my good servants and subjects.’ 

‘ In good sooth, Sire,’ replied Bayard, 4 since it is 
your pleasure, if once be not enough, I will do it times 
out of number, so to fulfil, unworthy as I am, your 
wish and commandment.’ Then Bayard took his 
sword and said , 4 Sire, may the ceremony be as efficacious 
as though it were performed by Roland or Oliver, 
Godfrey or Baldwin his brother. Verily, you are the 
first prince that ever I dubbed a knight. God grant 
that you never fly in time of war ! ’ Then, holding 
his sword in his right hand, he sportively exclaimed, 

4 My good sword, thou art very fortunate in that thou 
hast this day conferred the order of knighthood on so 
brave and powerful a King. Certes, thou shalt be 
carefully preserved as a relic, and honoured above all 
others ; and I will never wear thee, except against 
Turks, Saracens, or Moors.’ With that he made two 
flourishes and then replaced the sword in his scabbard. 

Thus, then, the King of France received the order 
of knighthood from the hands of Bayard ; wherein 
he did wisely, for by one more worthy it could not have 
been conferred upon him. 

5. Death and Fame 

At the beginning of the year 1524, the King of 
France had a vast army in Italy, under the command 
of his Admiral, the Lord of Bonnivet. The same had 
in his company many good captains, and Bayard among 
them. But finding his camp daily diminish, as well 


246 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

through lack of food as through sickness, which pre- 
vailed among his men, he held a council with his captains 
wherein it was judged best to retire ; and he formed 
his squadrons accordingly, the good knight remaining, 
as usual in all retreats, in the rear. The Spaniards 
followed them every day, marching after the French in 
excellent order, and often skirmishing ; but when it 
came to the attack they invariably had to encounter 
the good knight, who made his men of arms march 
with as much composure as if he had been in his own 
house, and slowly retired, keeping his face ever toward 
the foe and brandishing his sword, wherewith he inspired 
more dread than a hundred others. But it so fell out 
that a stone, discharged from an arquebuse, struck him 
across the loins and completely fractured his spine. 
As soon as he felt the blow he cried out 6 Jesus ! ’ and 
then, ‘ O God, I am slain ! ’ After that he waxed 
quite pale, as one swooning, and nearly fell ; but he 
still had strength to grasp the saddle-bow, and remained 
in this position till a young gentleman, his steward, 
helped him to dismount, and placed him under a tree. 

It was not long before it became known that the 
good knight had been killed, or at least mortally wounded, 
and when the tidings were spread among the two 
armies, even in the camp of the Spaniards, though 
there was no man upon earth of whom they had a 
greater dread, much sorrow was excited in all the 
gentlemen and soldiers, and that on many accounts ; 
for he had ever been wont, when he made military 
excursions and took prisoners, to treat them with singular 
mildness, and was so lenient in regard to their ransoms 
that he gave content to every one. They knew that 
by his death all that was noble would suffer a grievous 


247 


DEATH AND FAME 

decline ; for, without detracting from others, he was 
a paragon among knights, and by warring with him 
the young gentlemen of the adverse army gained 
instruction. 

Now seeing that his death was so earnestly bewailed 
by his enemies even, how can the profound sorrow 
be described which it caused throughout the French 
camp, among captains, men of arms, and foot soldiers ? 
For, by each in his station, he had made himself mar- 
vellously beloved. Above all, the unhappy gentlemen 
of his company made inexpressible lamentation ; and 
his miserable domestics were in a trance of grief. Among 
them was his poor steward, who never quitted his side ; 
and to him the good knight confessed, for want of a 
priest. The unhappy gentleman melted into tears, 
seeing his good master so mortally hurt ; but the good 
knight sweetly consoled him, saying : ‘ My friend 

Jacques, cease thy mourning ; it is God’s will to take 
me out of this world. By His favour I have abode 
long therein, and received blessings and honours 
more than are my due. The only thing which makes 
me loath to die is that I have not done my duty as well 
as I ought ; and in good sooth I hoped, had I lived 
longer, to have redeemed my past transgressions. 
But since it hath fallen out thus, I implore my Creator, 
of His infinite mercy, to have compassion upon my 
poor soul, and I have hope that He will hear my prayer 
and through His great and incomprehensible goodness, 
will forbear to deal with me after the rigour of justice. 
I pray thee, friend Jacques, let me not be taken from 
this spot ; for when I am stirred I feel the utmost 
torment that it is possible to experience, short of death, 
which is about to seize upon me right soon.’ 


248 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

A little while before the Spaniards came up, he had 
speech with the Lord of Alegre, Provost of Paris, to 
whom he declared somewhat touching his will. Also 
a Swiss captain named Hans Diesbach came thither, 
and was desirous to carry him off upon a litter of pikes 
with five or six of his people, thinking so to save him. 
But the good knight, who knew well how it was with 
him, begged that he might be left a brief space to think 
about his soul ; and he said to them, ‘ Gentlemen, I 
entreat you go your way, or you will fall into the hands 
of the enemy. To God I commend you ; furthermore 
beseeching that you salute the King, our Master, for 
me, and say how much it troubles me that I can render 
him no further service, which I had every inclination 
to do.’ As he uttered these words, the noble Lord 
of Alegre wept bitterly, and then bade him farewell. 

He lived two or three hours longer, his enemies 
spreading a fine pavilion for him, and laying him upon 
a camp-bed ; also a priest was brought him, to whom 
he confessed devoutly, and then the good knight with- 
out fear and without reproach rendered up his soul to 
God, whereat all of the enemy were unspeakably 
affected. The lords of the Spanish army appointed 
certain gentlemen to bear him to the church, where 
solemn service was performed over him during two 
days ; then was he by his servants carried into 
Dauphine. 

All noblesse ought to have put on mourning when 
the good knight departed this life ; for it was believed 
that since the creation of the world, neither among 
Christians nor heathen, hath any human being appeared 
that hath done less that is dishonourable, or more that 
is honourable, than he. God had endowed him with 


DEATH AND FAME 



249 


A* 


The death of the Good Knight. 








250 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

all the virtues which can belong to a perfect character, 
and which he well knew how to display, each on its 
proper occasion. He loved and feared God above all 
things, never sware by Him nor blasphemed Him, and 
in all his affairs and necessities recurred to Him alone, 
having a settled conviction that from Him and from 
His grace and infinite goodness all things proceed. 
He loved his neighbour as himself, whereof he made 
ample manifestation throughout his life ; for he never 
possessed a crown which was not at the service of the 
first person that had need of it, and he often supplied 
poor gentlemen that were reduced to poverty with 
money, according to his means, never requiring any 
sort of return at their hands. 

He followed the wars under Charles the Eighth, 
Louis the Twelfth, and Francis the First, Kings of 
France, for the space of two and thirty years, in the 
course of which time was no man found that surpassed 
him in the noble profession of arms ; and his valour 
was perfectly unequalled. In discretion he was a 
Fabius Maximus, in subtle enterprises a Coriolanus, 
in strength and courage a very Hector ; fierce with his 
enemies; mild, peaceful, and affable with his friends. 
No soldier under his command ever lost his horse whom 
he did not assist to remount himself ; and in order 
to make gifts of this kind more delicately, he would 
often exchange a charger or Spanish horse of the value 
of two or three hundred crowns, with one of his men of 
arms, for a cob not worth above six, persuading the 
gentleman that the horse he gave him suited him exactly. 
It was a common thing with him to give a dress of 
velvet satin or damask for a little cloak. This he 
did in order to bestow his bounties the more amiably, 


DEATH AND FAME 251 

and to the satisfaction of everyone. It may be said 
that it was not in his power to make large presents, 
because he was poor.. Yet he had the reputation of 
being as munificent, according to his ability, as the 
greatest prince upon earth. In his life he gained 
as much as a hundred thousand francs in war by 
prisoners, all of which he distributed among those that 
had need of them. 

He was a great giver of alms, and he gave in secret 
too. Certain it is, that, without making any noise 
about the matter, he enabled a hundred poor orphan 
girls, of gentle birth or otherwise, to marry. Poor 
widows he comforted, and made them share his sub- 
stance with him. Always, before quitting his chamber, 
he commended himself to God ; but when he did this ? 
he desired to be alone. In a conquered country, if it 
were possible to find any man or woman belonging to 
the house in which he lodged, he never failed to pay for 
what he thought he had cost them. Men often said 
to him, 4 Sir, it is throwing away your money to bestow 
it thus ; for when you depart, this place will be fired, 
and what you have given will become the prey of 
spoilers.’ Whereto he made answer, 4 Gentlemen, I do 
my duty. God hath not sent me into the world to live 
on plunder and rapine ; besides, this poor man may go 
hide his money at the foot of some tree, and when the 
country is free from war he will be able to make use of 
it, and will put up a prayer for me.’ He was in many 
wars where there were Germans in the camp ; and they, 
when they quit their billets, are fond of setting fire to 
them. The good knight never left his till he deemed 
that the Germans had gone ; otherwise he placed guards 
there to prevent the house from being fired. 


252 THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 

Among all sorts of men he was the most gracious 
person in the world, the one who most honoured people 
of virtue and who spake least concerning the vicious. 
He was very inexpert at flattery and fawning ; he had 
the greatest possible regard for truth, and never paid 
court to any prince or great personage whatever, by 
saying anything contrary thereto. Of worldly pelf he 
took no thought at all, as he clearly proved ; being 
at his death little richer than he was at his birth hour. 
When others told him of rich and powerful people 
who were thought to possess a scanty store of virtue, 
he turned a deaf ear to such discourse, and made little 
reply. On the other hand, he was never weary of talk- 
ing about the virtuous. In his heart, he honoured a 
true gentleman with an income of only a hundred 
francs, as highly as a prince with one of a hundred 
thousand ; and it was his creed that riches ennoble 
not the heart. 

None ever followed the profession of arms who 
better knew all the tricks of it ; and he often said that 
there is no one thing upon earth in which you are more 
often deceived ; for a man will play the hero in a 
chamber, who in the field before the enemy is as soft 
as a maiden. He, in his day, made small account of 
men of arms who abandon their ensigns to put on a 
show of valour, or for the sake of plundering He was 
the most confident warrior that was ever known, and 
by his words alone he could have moved the sorriest 
coward on earth to fight. He won fine victories in his 
time, but was never heard to brag of them ; if he were 
under the necessity of alluding to such subjects, he 
always gave the credit to someone else. He was 
present in many battles lost and won, but when they 


253 


DEATH AND FAME 

were won, Bayard was always in part the cause ; and 
when they were lost, he always gained great honour by 
his conduct. He would never serve any but his own 
prince, under whom he enjoyed no great riches ; much 
more abundant were offered him elsewhere, but he 
always declared that he would die to promote the 
welfare of his own country. He never in his life declined 
a mission, though many dangerous ones were proposed 
to him ; but God gave him power to maintain his 
honour, and to his dying day he never had so much 
steel taken from him in war as would have sufficed to 
make a needle. 

He was Lieutenant for the King, his master, in 
Dauphine, where he so completely gained the heart 
both of nobles and plebeians, that they would all have 
laid down their lives for him. That he was prized and 
honoured in his own country need excite no wonder? 
for he was honoured still more by other nations, and 
that not for a year or two only, but as long as he lived. 
And, indeed, he continues to be so now after his death ; 
for the good and virtuous life he led confers upon him 
everlasting praise. 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 


One of our enemies in the present war is said to have 
summed up the differences between his countrymen 
and ours in these words : ‘ I suppose it will be to the 
end as it has been from the beginning : you will always 
be fools, and we shall never be gentlemen.’ It is very 
much to be hoped that the story is true, for if it be so, 
the speaker was a witty and generous enemy, and his 
account of us shows great understanding. As a nation 
we have always been fools in our unpreparedness, our 
easy good-nature, and our faith in the good-nature of 
others ; and we have always kept alive and handed 
down more and more widely the belief that to be a 
gentleman is the secret of social life. 

Every one knows that the word 4 gentleman ’ has been 
often misused : it has been used as a boast, or a claim 
to privilege, and, worse still, it has been taken to mean 
a man who, by reason of birth or wealth, is able to live 
without working, and to look down upon and domineer 
over those who are in a different position. This is 
turning the better and older meaning upside down. 
There have no doubt always been ill-conditioned 
people whose only idea of superiority was to rely on 
their advantages of position, or to despise and bully 
those within their power ; but in practical life they do 
not pass current for real gentlemen, for the national 
ideal has been entirely opposed to theirs ever since 
England was a nation. Let us go back to the middle 

254 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 255 

of the fourteenth century, the time when English 
began to be spoken by all classes alike, and when the 
old division between Norman and Saxon had finally 
disappeared. If we put ourselves under Chaucer’s 
guidance and look into the courtyard of the Tabard Inn 
in Southwark, on April 18, 1387, we may see a company 
of about thirty riders setting out together to go on 
pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury. 
They are all English, men and women, of every profession 
and class except the highest and the lowest, and the 
first two whom Chaucer sets before us are gentlemen, 
a father and son. The father is a knight, the son a 
young squire : they are not persons of unusual distinc- 
tion, but just ordinary examples of their class. 

A knight there was, and that a worthy man, 

That from the time that he first began 
To riden out, he loved chivalry, 

Truth and honour, freedom and courtesy. 

Full worthy was he in his lordes war, 

And thereto had he ridden, no man far [farther], 

As well in Christendom as heathenesse, 

And ever honoured for his worthiness. 

He had, in fact, spent most of his life in fighting ; he 
had been in many campaigns in many countries, present 
at three great sieges and fifteen mortal battles, and 
three times he had slain his man in single combat in the 
lists. But though he was a war-hardened soldier, there 
was nothing brutal in his character, and nothing proud 
or overbearing in his manners. 

And though that he were worthy, he was wise, 

And of his port as meek as is a maid. 

He never yet no villainy ne said 
In all his life, unto no manner wight. 

He was a very perfect gentle knight. 


258 THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 

by brute force, we must keep our treaties, and respect 
the rights of small States ; in short, in public as in 
private life, we must see that the weak do not suffer 
injustice from the strong ; otherwise the world will be 
destroyed as a place for men to live in, and not even 
the strongest will have gained anything worth having. 
This was the danger that threatened Europe in the 
Dark Ages, and it was to meet it that chivalry arose. 
The same danger has threatened us in these days, and 
it is being met by the same method, a method handed 
down through the centuries. If we in turn are to 
hand it on to those who come after us, we ought to know 
how the tradition has been kept and developed in the 
past. Happily it is a very interesting story, being made 
up chiefly of the lives and deeds of famous fighting 
men. 

The * Song of Roland * may be said to be the oldest 
soldier’s pocket-book in Europe : it was to the early 
Middle Ages what Homer’s ‘ Iliad ’ was to the Greeks, 
not only a great tale of war, but an example or manual 
of conduct. The night before the battle of Hastings, 
while the Saxons were drinking jovially, the Normans 
were reciting the * Chanson de Roland ’ to fire each other 
to great deeds of arms. The next day, when the two 
armies faced one another, the Norman minstrel Taillefer 
rode out between them, tossing his sword into the air 
and singing of Roland. He charged alone, struck the 
first blow, and died among his lord’s enemies — an 
example, not of tactics, but of the spirit that is above the 
fear of death. Wherever the ‘ Song of Roland ’ is read, 
this should be told for a remembrance of him. 

But though the poem is full of the pride of fight, 
there ! is much more in it than that. There is the first 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 259 

glow of patriotism, a love of country of a kind well 
known to the French, but not even yet common among 
us. We love our royal commonwealth, and its good 
name, and all that is kindly and honourable in its life ; 
but we have not yet that passionate affection for the 
very soil of the fatherland. To the poilu to-day, as 
to Roland a thousand years ago, France is always 
4 sweet France ’ — le douce pays ; an Englishman 
may go as far as 4 Old England,’ but he would never 
get to 4 sweet England,’ because that is not our way 
of thinking of our country. Another saying of Roland’s 
would suit our men better : 4 God forbid that France 
by me should be the loser ! ’ and we understand him 
perfectly when he says to his sword, 4 May no man own 
thee that does cowardly. God ! let not France be so 
dishonoured ! ’ and again, when in the moment of death 
he remembers Charlemagne, his lord, and 4 the men of 
France, of whom he was so trusted.’ 

Here we have come on two of the great principles 
of chivalry. The first is the principle of service : 
you may think of it as the service of your King, or the 
service of your country ; for all free peoples it is the 
same thing, for the king of free men is only the symbol 
of their country personified, and everything he does 
is the expression of their will. A soldier knows this 
better than others because he knows it instinctively : 
he finds the only perfect freedom in service, where all 
men might find it if they would ; and he is proud to 
serve, because the finest pride can only come from 
serving something greater than self. So from the 
beginning this joy of service was strong in the knight, 
who was just miles , a soldier, and had the soldier’s 
pride, not in himself, but in his order — parage , he 


260 THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 

called it, as distinguished from orgueil, which was 
the evil personal pride ; and parage , of course, means 
simply ‘ equality.’ This is the second principle of 
chivalry : every man within the order was the equal 
of every other, and was bound to him as by brotherhood. 
No doubt there must be commanders and subordinates ; 
no doubt among soldiers, as among other men, there 
must always be particular friendships, and the friend- 
ship of Roland and Oliver is one of the most famous 
instances. To Roland, Oliver is not only 4 Sir Comrade,* 
he is 4 Oliver my brother,’ and when he is dead, Roland 
weeps over him : 4 Never on earth will you hear tell of 
a man more sorrowful.’ But for the other men of 
France too he mourns 4 like a noble knight ’ ; and at 
the same moment, among the army beyond the pass, 
4 there is none but is lamenting not to be with Roland, 
tne captain who is fighting the Saracens of Spain.’ 
In later times, when chivalry had spread to other 
nations, this bond of brotherhood among soldiers was 
so strong that it held good even between those of 
different races ; honourable knights could never be 
foreigners to one another, since they all belonged to 
one spiritual fraternity ; and this feeling, though it 
did not abolish war, went a long way towards taking 
the bitterness out of it. There were plenty of reasons 
why Bertrand du Guesclin and the English should 
have hated each other ; he was an enemy of the rough 
and tough kind, bent upon turning his opponents out 
of France at all costs ; they, on their side, were playing 
a losing game, and no one likes to be beaten. Yet 
again and again they treated him even better than they 
would have thought it necessary to treat one of their 
own men : they let him come storming into their tents 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 261 

to complain of his wrongs, they gave him their own 
chargers to put him on a fair footing with their own 
champion, and when he was their prisoner they sub- 
scribed enormous sums to help him pay ransom to 
themselves ! 

In the same spirit Saphadin the Saracen sent to 
Richard Cceur de Lion, when he saw him hard tried 
in battle, two Arab horses of the finest breed, wishing 
to honour and help so brave an enemy. ‘ What a 
virtue is chivalry,’ says the Chronicler, 4 even in a foe ! ’ 
And it is good to read how the Christians on their 
side admired the Turks for their valour and honesty 
all round, in spite of their not being 6 of the right faith.’ 
Richard was almost too generous, in the opinion of 
some of the Crusaders : they thought he went too 
far in his interchange of courtesies with Saladin. But 
so wonderful a fighter could never be unpopular, and 
his own men know that he was true to them. When he 
was advised not to attempt a rescue against dangerous 
odds, he changed colour with indignation, and swore 
that if by his default his dear comrades met their death, 
he would never again be called a king. With all his 
faults of temper, Richard was a great knight. 

So was St. Louis of France ; he had neither Richard’s 
skill in war nor his tremendous bodily prowess, but 
he was wise with a deeper wisdom and courteous with 
a more perfect gentle courtesy. He too thought of 
his men before himself: he might have escaped the 
pestilence that was destroying them, by living aboard 
his ship, but he would rather die than leave his people. 
Richard, for the Holy War, would raise money by any 
and every means ; he atoned for his unscrupulousness 
by his great generosity, but St. Louis was more generous 


262 THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 

still, for he would not take advantage even of his enemies. 
When the Saracens, in counting his ransom, made an 
error of ten thousand livres to their own loss, he was 
enraged with his men for not correcting the mistake, 
and refused to go free till the amount promised had been 
paid in full. This scrupulous honour about money 
became in time so characteristic a part of chivalry 
that in Froissart’s day the English and French, he says, 
always made good cheer to their prisoners and let them 
go ‘ all only on their promise ’ to return and pay their 
ransom. It may have been unbusinesslike, but they 
seem not to have lost by it, and in any case it was the 
way in which a gentleman to this day would always 
prefer to deal. Let the churl call him fantastic ; where 
money and love are concerned the word 4 fantastic ’ 
only means high-minded. 

Certainly in their worship of their ladies the young 
knights and squires of the Middle’ Ages did go to extremes, 
but their feelings were right and natural, however they 
expressed them. They set women in their right place, 
as the stars and counsellors of men, and it was only when 
chivalry declined for a time that the position of women 
was altered for the worse. Among the real knights 
there was never any talk of the inequality of the sexes : 
ladies ruled castles and armies in the absence of their 
husbands, and more than held their own in their presence. 
As for the lovers, if they did dress extravagantly, 
and lie awake at nights, and do reckless things to gain 
the approval of their ladies, they only acted as lovers 
will always be acting to the end of time ; the fashions 
have changed but little, the feelings still less. The 
important thing was the habit of a particular courtesy 
towards women, a gentleness of manner and a readiness 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 263 

to serve, based upon a real feeling of reverence. We 
may see this custom and this feeling, as they were 
known in England, set forth plainly in the story of Robin 
Hood. The writer of the ballads in which that story 
is told is not likely to have been a knight — probably 
he was a plain middle- class man — but he knew how a 
gentleman should feel, and he tells us that Robin Hood’s 
rules were rules of perfect chivalry. 4 Look ye first 
that ye do no harm to any company where there is a 
woman therein ; and after that look ye do no man harm 
that tilleth with plough ; no more shall ye harm no 
good yeoman, nor knight nor squire that will be a good 
fellow.’ The whole of the ‘ Lytel Geste of Robin Hood ’ 
is made to turn upon Robin’s devotion to Our Lady, 
the ideal of womanhood, and rather than break his 
lifelong faith, he forgave a treacherous woman his 
death. In all the romances of chivalry there is no 
better story than this, and it is the more delightful 
because it expresses the feeling, not of one class in 
England, but of the Commons. We can say nothing 
more honourable even of Bayard, the pattern of all 
knighthood, than that in a later and much degene- 
rate age, he still upheld the old law of the English 
greenwood. 

In another way, too, Robin was a right Englishman : 
yeoman though he was, he loved sport as much as any 
knight. At court he pined, and ran away to his forest. 

‘ It is a far time, ’ he said, 4 since I was here last ; it 
would please me to shoot a little at the dun deer.’ 
A year or so before, King Edward had caught him at it, 
but he had forgiven him easily, because of the natural 
fellowship of sport — he was 4 a good fellow.’ The 
same spirit was common among the knights who met 


264 THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 

in tournament : they desired honour for themselves 
and their own country, but so long as they kept their 
courtesy, they acknowledged that the love of sport 
was the strongest bond. The French knights at St. 
Inglebert challenged all nations, and especially the 
English, not ‘ for any pride, hatred, or ill-will, but all 
only to have their honourable company and acquaint- 
ance, the which with our entire hearts we desire,’ and 
the English team, when they went home defeated, 

6 thanked them greatly for their pastime.’ There are 
many earnest people who will read the account of 
so elaborate a ‘ pastime ’ as this without sympathy, 
perhaps even with indignation, just as there are from 
time to time protests against our national fondness 
for our modern games and modern forms of sport. 
Certainly these things may be overdone, they may 
monopolise the interest and the prestige which ought 
to be shared with other activities, and they may end 
in dulling the minds of the young. But the objectors, 
though they are right in fearing this, fail to understand 
the real source of the prestige of sport. They do not 
know the history of our love of games- — they have not 
themselves come under the influence of the tradition. 
Our ancestors, like ourselves, liked an outdoor life and 
the practice of bodily skill and endurance, with the 
spice of bodily danger. But the deeper reason for 
which they valued these exercises, the deeper founda- 
tion on which they built their great fellowship, was the 
feeling that in games, as in war, and in all active life, 
there is something more than amusement. You cannot 
make a bond of brotherhood out of a companionship 
in amusements. That which bound the hunting men 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 265 

and j ousters of old time together was their faithful 
observance of the rules. You may win a battle, perhaps 
a war, by carefully prepared treachery and unscrupu- 
lous brutality, but you will have corrupted human life, 
the life you depend upon for your own happiness. 
In the same way you may make sure of killing your 
fish or your fox, or winning your game or your race, 
if you put killing or winning before every other consider- 
ation, but you will have spoiled the sport in which 
you looked to find your own pleasure. If you give your 
opponent, man or animal, no fair chance, you will, in a 
minor department, be corrupting life for yourself as 
well as others. It is the sense of this, the sense that 
there is something better than success, something that 
must not be sacrificed even for the sake of winning, 
which bound men together and will always bind the 
best of them. 

The knights of old time felt this, instinctively, but 
very strongly. To secure the safe handing on of their 
feeling they made chivalrous sport and chivalrous 
games a large part of the education of their sons. The 
history of schools and schoolmasters in England is a 
very significant one. From the first the keeping of 
schools, for the education of boys’ brains, was entirely 
in the hands of the clergy, and the main object, almost 
the only possible object, was to train the more promising 
pupils to become clerics themselves. For boys who 
had no special bent, and who were not driven that way 
by the necessity of getting a living out of the Church, 
these schools were of little or no use ; the sons of knights, 
franklins, gentlemen, or yeomen were either not sent 
to them, or were kept there only during childhood.. 


266 THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 

We need not wonder at this, for we know with some 
accuracy what a boy’s life was at a fourteenth-century 
school, and it is clear that he got nothing there which 
could be of much value to a soldier or country gentleman, 
a farmer or a man of business. The poet John Lydgate 
was a Suffolk boy ; he was about twelve years old 
when Chaucer’s Pilgrims rode to Canterbury — that is, 
about eight years younger than the squire whom we 
have already met — and he is thought to have been 
educated at the Abbey of Bury St. Edmunds, where 
he afterwards became a monk. This is his account 
of his schooldays up to the time when he ‘ entered into 
religion.’ 

Void of reason, given to wilfulness, 

Froward to virtue, of thrift took little heed, 

Loth to learn, loved no busyness 

Save play or mirth ; strange to spell or read ; 

Following all appetites longing to childhead ; 

Lightly turning, wild and seldom sad [serious], 

Weeping for nought, and anon after glad. 

Full lightly wroth to strive with my fellawe 
As my passions did my bridle lead ; 

Of the yard [rod] sometime I stood in awe. 

To be scoured, that was all my dread. 

Loth toward school, lost my time in deed, 

Like a young colt that runneth without bridle ; 

Made my friends their good to spend in idle. 

I had in custom to come to school late, 

Not for to learn, but for a countenance ; 

With my fellawes ready to debate, 

To jangle or jape was set all my pleasaunce ; 

Whereof rebuked, this was my chevisaunce [resource] 

To forge a lie, and thereupon to muse 
When I trespassed, myselven to excuse. 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 267 

To my betters did no reverence, 

Of my sovereigns gave no force at all ; 

Waxed obstinate by inobedience ; 

Ran into gardens, apples there I stall [stole] ; 

To gather fruits spared neither hedge nor wall, 

To pluck grapes in other mennes vines 
Was more ready, than to say matines. 

Loth to rise, lother to bed at eve ; 

With unwashed handes ready to dinner ; 

My paternoster , my crede or my believe 

Cast at the cook, lo ! this was my manner ! 

Waved with each wind, as doth a reed-spear ; 

Snibbed of my friends, such fetches [faults] to amend, 
Made deaf ear, list not to them attend. 

When John Lydgate wrote that, his conscience was 
plaguing him — perhaps not without good cause, for 
he goes on to say that even after he had ‘ made his 
profession ’ he continued his evil course, and added 
secret wine-bibbing and other sins. But when we think 
of the methods of the monkish schoolmasters, we can- 
not help sympathising with the bad boy. Bishop 
Grandisson of Exeter, the greatest Churchman of that 
generation, himself complains that these masters had 
‘ a preposterous and unprofitable method of teaching ’ — 
they made their pupils learn Latin prayers and creeds 
by heart without knowing or understanding how to 
construe anything of them, so that 6 when they are grown 
up they understand not the things which they daily 
read or say.’ In future, he says, he shall refuse to ordain 
to the priesthood boys so badly educated. We know 
also how horrible was the whole system of the clerical 
schools. ‘ Espionage and the rod were the two main 
pillars of monastic and scholastic discipline in the 


268 THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 

Middle Ages. The scholars of Pembroke, Cambridge, 
held their scholarships on the express condition of act- 
ing as faithful tale-bearers ; and a frequent complaint 
recorded by an inspector against the monasteries which 
he visits is that “ they do not inform against each other.” ’ 

No wonder that when England became the land of 
Englishmen this kind of education became unpopular. 
It was at this exact time, when Lydgate was eighteen 
and Chaucer’s squire would have been twenty-six, 
that William of Wykeham founded the first English 
Public School. Evidently he meant it to be an improve- 
ment on the monkish system and to attract a better 
class of boys ; and it is easy to see what was the improve- 
ment that was needed if we compare the boyhood of 
poor Lydgate with that of the squire. 

The squire, no doubt, was a child once, desirous of 
4 following all appetites longing to childhood ’ : prob- 
ably he too was loth to learn his books, and sorry when 
bedtime came. But he did not, like Lydgate and his 
like, go on till the age of fifteen with the 6 private school ’ 
tricks of a little boy, playing truant, robbing orchards, 
and spending his time on such games as 4 cherry-stones.’ 
At the age of seven he left babyhood behind, and was 
sent to live in the house of some nobleman or great 
Churchman to receive knightly breeding among the 
squires and pages in service there. This was his school ; 
the knight or nobleman or bishop was his housemaster, 
and took in hand to teach him not merely book learning, 
but the whole art of life. 

The first thing in chivalrous life, as we have seen, 
was personal service ; it was the foundation of every- 
thing. No one even thought of being 4 independent ’ ; 
it was realised that society cannot exist at all except 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 269 

by every man both giving and receiving service. In 
those days 4 no kind of service was ignoble in itself, 
but the service of the hall, the armoury, the tiltyard, 
the stable, the park, and all that concerned hunting 
and hawking, was eminently noble .’ 1 The boy who 
entered' a great household was at first left a good deal 
to the ladies, and to the chaplain, who taught him 
reading and writing and heraldry and the kings of 
England, and, if he were like Nicholas Love, poetry too. 
Then came the time when, like young Bayard, he was 
old enough to ride a pony and pour out the wine at 
table ; he was then a page or henchman, and was under 
the orders of a senior squire called 4 the master of the 
henchmen.’ After that he learned to be useful in the 
stables, kennels, and hawk- pens, and to work in the 
armoury. At the age of fourteen he was old enough, 
if he had done well, to wear a silver collar and be entitled 
squire. 

These forms of personal service were matters for 
care and pride ; in some degree they lasted on for 
centuries in schools and colleges where junior scholars 
used to wait on the seniors, and they were the origin of 
fagging in our schools of to-day. In degenerate times 
people became unchivalrous enough to look down on 
4 servitors ’ ; they forgot that all great knights had 
once carved at table and stood behind their lord’s 
chair, as the Black Prince and his best friends waited 
on King John of France, Joinville on the King of 
Navarre, Sir Thomas More on Cardinal Morton, and 
a whole 4 mess of young lords ’ on Cardinal Wolsey. 

1 This and the following notes on education are taken from Chivalry , 
by the late Frank Warre-Comish, Vice-Provost of Eton, and the very per- 
fect gentle housemaster of his time. 


270 THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 

No doubt it was hard work, but it was honourable, and 
the compensations were great. The outdoor part of 
the education filled the larger half of the time-table: 
it began with wrestling, boxing, fives, and racquets, 
tilting at the ring and the quintain, and, better still, it 
included attendance on the lords and ladies at every 
kind of hunting party. There was not much study of 
books, but a great deal of music and singing. The 
squires who had charge of the pages were required ‘ to 
learn them to ride cleanly and surely, to draw them 
also to jousts, to learn them wear their harness (i.e. 
armour), to have all courtesy in words, deeds, and degrees 
. . . Moreover to teach them sundry languages and 
other learnings virtuous, to harp, to pipe, sing, dance 
. . . with corrections in their chambers.’ And always 
there was before the boys the example of the knight, 
their housemaster, whose manners they imitated every 
day and whose fame they knew by heart. In time 
the best of them might hope to be the body squires 
of such a man — to arm him for tourney or for battle, 
to unhelm him when victorious or pick him up when 
defeated, possibly to bring him off from some great 
field, as the four brought Sir James Audley out of the 
scrimmage at Poitiers, and to leave to their descendants 
a coat of arms with an honourable augmentation from 
his own. In time they might themselves have squires 
and hand on the tradition they had received. 

This was a very different education from that of 
the monastic school. Its defect was that it trained 
boys only for one kind of career, the career of soldiering 
and sport. Its great merit was that it made men, 
and not sneaks or bookworms, and that its direct 
objects were character and efficiency. What troubled 


THE OLD ENGLISH SCHOOL 271 

John de Grandisson and William of Wykeham was 
that the clerical education of their time aimed at neither 
of these ; its effort was directed to the making of 
sham Latinists and sham saints. But the world of 
chivalry, though limited, was a real world, a world of 
real needs and real feelings. It had no use for any 
pretended efficiency ; your fighting, your riding, your 
shooting, your singing, your courtesy, your love, were 
all put to the test of action, of competition, of risk, 
of life and death. Shamming and cramming were 
useless, for you were examined every day in the whole 
art of life by those who lived it on the same terms. 
And you obeyed them because you wished to be like 
them. 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 


William of Wykeham no doubt intended his new 
type of school to provide a training in the art of life, 
for he gave it the significant motto, 4 Manners makyth 
Man. 5 To a certain extent he and those who followed 
his example at Eton and elsewhere did succeed in com- 
bining the merits of the two old forms of education : 
from the monastic system they took on the book 
learning without the espionage and the parrot-like 
repetition ; from the custom of the castles they adopted 
the principle of the boarding-house and the system of 
prefects, ‘with corrections in their chambers. 5 But they 
had to provide for a society which was rapidly developing 
into many different classes and professions ; and among 
these the country gentlemen were only one class, and 
the soldiers a still smaller number. Education became 
more and more scholastic and less and less chivalrous : 
the tradition of the knights was kept alive, not by the 
school curriculum, but by the boys themselves, and 
thus a division crept in, for, however you may educate 
them in school hours, nearly all English boys are born 
to the love of fighting and of service. 

This division between book learning and the life boys 
love continued for four hundred years — from 1393, when 
the premier public school was founded, down to 1793, 
when the Great War began. Then came twenty years 
of fighting, in which, to save Europe from C^sarism, 
272 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 273 

England had to make a great and sustained effort both 
by sea and land. It was difficult but always possible 
to get the men for navy and army ; what might well 
have seemed impossible was to find the officers. The 
old English navy had been worked by sea-dogs — the 
few gentlemen aboard were of little use, for they had 
not been trained to the profession. It was only after 
some heavy beatings from the Dutch that the Duke 
of York invented the modern midshipman- — that is, 
the young gentleman born to the chivalrous tradition 
and bred to the sea. The sea-dog, with all his skill, 
was not first and foremost a fighting man ; in the 
seventeenth century he was too often, when the pinch 
came, a dog with his tail down, going for home. By 
the time of Jervis and Nelson all that was forgotten ; 
the training had been provided, the officer class was 
ready. The tradition had been successfully introduced 
and kept so perfectly that if the Black Prince and 
Chandos and Audley looked in upon the Nile and 
Trafalgar, they must have seen themselves reflected 
as in a mirror by Nelson and his captains, that ‘ band 
of brothers ’ who served and loved and died by all the 
rules of chivalry. And if the founders of the Garter 
still feast on St. George’s Day, as some have thought, 
in the castle of Windsor, it is likely enough that the 
Iron Duke sits with them, and Colborne and Ross, and 
Pack and Picton and Ponsonby, and they agree heartily 
about the meaning of war and honour, and wonder 
together at those who do not understand. 

The boys of that generation were happy, because 
they felt that their education had a direct bearing upon 
life — the life they desired. Their letters show that 
whatever they learnt, they learnt with a single object 


274 CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 

in view — to serve their country as soon as they reached 
the age for a commission. Wordsworth says they 
were taught too much book learning, and taught it 
badly. He was no doubt right, but beneath all the con- 
ventional elegance of the classical education they suc- 
ceeded in finding the ideas they needed, the patriotism, 
the fellowship, and the love of fair play. They may 
have got it from their Homer and Virgil lessons ; 
more likely they got it from their own tradition or from 
their masters out of school. In any case, their books 
did not trouble them long, for the navy took them at 
eleven, and the army at seventeen or even earlier. 

But after Waterloo all this was changed ; soldiering 
went into the background, and the old division between 
books and life began again. After forty years came the 
Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny ; when they were 
past, the boys of England took matters into their own 
hands, invented organised games, and revived the old 
passion for tournaments under many new forms. For 
thirty years the gulf between learning and athletics, 
between the training of the mind and the training of 
the body, widened every year. Some criticism began 
to be heard ; the answer was that athletics trained the 
character as well as the bodily powers. Then came 
the Boer War ; the army was outwitted in a new and 
peculiar kind of fighting, and a cry arose that we had 
wasted our time on mere games and sports, which were 
no preparation for war. The nation resented this cry, 
especially when uttered in verse ; but it had truth in it : 
you may get from the playing-fields the moral qualities, 
such as leadership and endurance and fair-play, which 
are indispensable for war, but you cannot get the 
scientific training which is N also indispensable. The 


275 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 

old school of mediaeval chivalry gave both ; the squire 
who learned his business learned not only to be brave 
and serviceable and courteous, but to be master of the 
whole science of War as then practised. It was not for 
the making of ‘ records * or the amusement of idle 
afternoons that he gave and took those terrific tumbles 
in the lists : he was rehearsing shock tactics, and not 
infrequently the rehearsal was as deadly as the real 
thing. If our games are to be a thorough training for 
war, they must include throwing the bomb as well as the 
cricket ball, and racing not only in boats, but in aero- 
planes and armoured cars. The same thing holds good 
of the non-military departments of life : a great deal 
of science is needed, and it must be taught if we are 
to live to the advantage of the commonwealth. Let it 
be taught then ; the matter is no longer seriously in 
dispute. 

The fact remains that the more valuable element 
in war and the more difficult to make sure of, is 
the moral element, and for that there is nothing like 
the old English school tradition. In 1914 we began 
the Great War of our own time with an expedi- 
tionary force of seven divisions, unsurpassed for spirit, 
training, and equipment. The scientific part of their 
efficiency was due to Lord Haldane and those who 
carried out his organisation ; the moral part was due 
to the chivalric tradition, handed down in the rightly 
called 4 gentle 5 class and fostered in the schools where 
they are bred. This is not a matter for mere self-con- 
gratulation; it would be a national misfortune if any 
feeling were engendered which could increase the sense 
of class differences among us. But it would be an even 
greater misfortune if the truth were not recognised, for 


276 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 


our future development depends upon this recognition. 
The plain fact is that among the few absolutely vital 
elements of success in modern war, one, and that, per- 
haps, the most vital of all, has been supplied by our 
schools and universities. Our enemies were aware 
that if we could but gain the time, we might reach a 
certain number of enlistments and a certain output 
of material ; what they openly denied to us was an 
adequate supply of officers, for they were certain that 
the necessary spirit of energy and self-sacrifice was 
dead among our wealthier class. Yet that class has 
not only made possible the winning of this war, it has 
proved to be almost the only trustworthy source of 
leadership. It follows that our hope for the future 
must lie in extending the tradition beyond the boundaries 
of class ; and happily a great deal has already been 
done in this direction. There is more yet to be done. 
The better a tradition is, the more it should be spread 
by those who hold it ; if this tradition is, as we believe, 
a noble one, it must ennoble all who receive it. There 
must be no exclusiveness, no orgueil, no looking down 
upon comrades, no talk of ‘temporary gentlemen.’ 
Everyone knows and recognises with admiration that 
in that first black year of the war our line was held by 
the men of birth — that is, by the great-grandsons of 
those who faced Napoleon a hundred years ago. They 
in their turn cannot fail to welcome to their fellowship 
the men from smaller schools and less known families 
who rushed in to take their places when they were 
decimated and exhausted. Harry the Fifth allowed 
coats of arms as of right to all who had fought with 
him in France. He would have approved the saying 
of a great Englishwoman in 1915 : ‘There are only two 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 277 

classes now — those who have been in the trenches, 
and those who have not.’ 

The widening of the chivalric fellowship is the more 
vitally necessary because its principle is not one for 
soldiering only ; it is good for all social life, national 
and international. If it were universally adopted it 
would free the world at once of both militarism and 
pacifism. The militarist cannot see that aggressive 
war is a monstrous and inhuman crime ; the pacifist 
cannot see that to stand aside, in sight of wrong and 
oppression, is a monstrous and inhuman crime no less. 
Both agree in speaking of Peace as if it were simply 
the opposite of War, as if it were attained whenever 
physical force is not resisted by physical force. This 
is the peace experienced by Belgium and Servia after 
complete conquest by their enemies. 

But if both militarist and pacifist are mistaken, are 
they both mistaken in the same way ? They are not ; their 
objects are different. The militarist aims at domina- 
tion ; for him there is no virtue in peace if only he can 
have power, for by his creed it is power alone which 
distinguishes a good State from a bad one. We need 
not stay to reason with those who hold this doctrine ; 
it is contrary to the natural desire of all peoples for 
freedom and equal rights, and it has been professed 
by one nation only out of the nineteen or twenty now 
at war. The pacifist is in reality a greater danger to 
the world, for he desires what nearly all of us desire, 
but he thinks and feels about Peace confusedly, 
and he proposes to attain it by impossible means. 
In theory he would admit that it is a state of mind, a 
spiritual condition ; but when it comes to practice he 
identifies it with physical passivity, the mere negation 


278 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 

of physical war. The man of peace, he says, will never 
be tempted to aggression. All civilised men will assent 
to this. He says, further, that the man of peace will 
rather submit to suffer wrong than oppose it by brute 
force. Few people have ever been able to act on this 
principle ; many have professed it — in England a 
whole sect — but they have been led unconsciously 
into a false position, for they have practised their 
passive virtue under the protection of military and 
civil forces, maintained and administered by others 
for their benefit. Let us hasten to add that when war 
came the conscience of all honourable Quakers was 
touched by this reflection, and the majority of them, 
with a doubly heroic courage, gave themselves to the 
active service of their country in the fight against 
oppression. A remnant only hold still with the extreme 
pacifist, that the man of peace will never use force, 
even to defend the weak from oppression, women from 
outrage, children from massacre, and whole populations 
from the cruellest slavery. His own salvation, his 
own spiritual happiness, his own peace, requires that 
he should sacrifice not only his own life, but the life 
and happiness of his nearest and dearest, and the whole 
brotherhood of men, rather than strike a blow in their 
defence. This, they say, is demanded by the law of 
Christianity, which forbids man to hate his brother. 

On this point chivalry long ago accepted and put 
in practice the law of Christianity. The soldier was 
not to hate his enemies ; he was bound, by the brother- 
hood of arms, to honour them even while he did his 
best to defeat them, and no less when he had defeated 
them. This rule has not been kept invariably — it is 
not easy to honour men who have been guilty of bar- 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 279 

barous cruelty and cold-blooded murder ; but towards 
clean fighters it has been kept so often and so con- 
spicuously that it has become not only a rule, but a 
custom among white men. The British soldier seldom 
feels hatred or ill-humour towards his enemies in the 
field ; he fights hard, but he does not sing Hymns 
of Hate — he does not even resent the singing of them 
in the trenches opposite. The British airman, when he 
has killed an Immelmann or a Boelcke in the aerial 
lists, will plane down under fire to drop a wreath upon 
his grave. The officers of the Sydney cordially admired 
Captain Muller of the Emden, and the whole country 
heard with pleasure how Admiral von Spee, at a ban- 
quet in South America, rebuked an orator who spoke 
offensively of our Navy. No, hatred does not come 
of fighting between honourable men and according to 
the rules ; it comes only of aggression and insolence 
and frightful cruelty, and against these man must 
defend the weak as he would defend them against wild 
beasts or maniacs. 

War, then, will not destroy the soldier’s peace, if 
he is a soldier of chivalry. On the contrary, the sense 
of service, of brotherhood, of self-sacrifice, may give 
him peace for the first time. 4 1 never knew what 
peace was before ’ — so men have written from the 
trenches in France. But the soldier inflicts pain and 
death ? Certainly, and faces them too. Pain and 
death are incidents in the life of time ; they come to 
all men sooner or later. The soldier sees them in their 
true light ; he knows better than other men how little 
is the difference between 6 sooner ’ and 4 later ’ when 
compared with the eternal difference between honour 
and dishonour His belief holds good for his enemy 


280 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 

as for himself ; he will take from him his life or his 
power of fighting, but not his peace or his self-respect. 

The pacifist desires to end all war. For this, too, 
chivalry has long ago provided. It aimed at ending, 
not war, but the main causes and evils of war, and if 
we now propose more sweeping measures, we must take 
care that our attempt is equally consistent with human 
nature. It will, at any rate, do no harm if we keep the 
old tradition in mind as an alternative. We have done, 
perhaps for ever, with the pageantry and symbolism 
of chivalry, but we shall see how far it is from being 
obsolete as a faith and a way of life if we imagine it 
formally refounded and its principles restated in modern 
fashion. It might reappear, perhaps, as follows : 

The Universal Association for the 
Attainment of Peace 

The object of this Society is the attainment of 
peace by the elimination of hatred from human affairs. 
Membership is free to all who are, or who wish to be, 
gentle, brave, loyal, and courteous. 

The Society recognises no distinction of rank, creed, 
colour, or nationality. 

Rules 

(1) Members are bound to one another in all cir- 
cumstances by the obligation of brotherhood. 

(2) Every member shall be bound to forbear all 
men courteously, to deal honourably, to fight in a 
just quarrel and in no other. 

(3) Every member shall bear himself in war without 
hatred, in pain or death without flinching, in defeat 
without complaining, in victory without insolence. 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 281 

(4) Every member shall hold himself under a special 
obligation to help and serve those who are weak, poor, 
or suffering, and particularly women and conquered 
enemies. 

This prospectus was written many years ago, during 
the first winter of the South African War, as part of a 
reply to the pacifists of that generation ; and for the 
purposes of argument it was composed after a formal 
and scientific pattern. It does not perfectly express 
the tradition which has come down to us, for chivalry, 
though it once had some of the forms of an institution, 
is not really an institution, but an ideal, a personal 
standard of conduct communicated by the touch of a 
personal fire. The writer who imagined this Associa- 
tion for Peace looked forward to seeing the chivalrous 
ideal spread from the older schools and older families 
to the younger and newer, a long and gradual process, 
which might in time bridge the gaps between social 
classes, but not the old gulf between the life and the 
education of boys. He could not foresee that a high- 
spirited and ingenious soldier, then busy with the 
defence of Mafeking, would, when the war was over, 
solve both these problems by one simple device. 

Colonel Baden Powell, desiring like others to spread 
more widely the tradition which he had inherited, 
did not, like others, confine his hopes to spreading it 
slowly from the centre to the circumference of the 
English boy world. He went straight to the outer 
circle, to the youngest and least wealthy class, to the 
great mass whose schools and schooling were then of 
so recent a date that they could not yet be said to have 
any tradition of their own of any kind. These boys he 


282 CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 

summoned to be Scouts. The Scout Law which he 
set before them is the Law of what our ancestors called 
‘ the Noble and High Order of Knighthood ’ — the law 
of honour, loyalty, brotherhood, and courtesy, and 
especially of service to women and children, to the 
old and to the weak or suffering. The astonishing and 
almost world-wide success of the movement is due 
to the method of the call. It is not an appeal to the 
intellect, nor a habit imposed by teaching, nor even a 
reminder of inherited pride — it is a personal invitation 
to play the game of life after the manner most desired 
by the heart of boys. Come and make yourself a man, 
with a man’s life ; not a narrow, shut-in life, selfish 
or idle or entirely specialised, but a useful, friendly, 
all-round life, with a wide outlook on the world you 
live in and the people you live among. Take the full 
happiness of life, the happiness of serving, loving, be- 
friending, and defending — the happiness of fighting and 
conquering all that is difficult or dangerous or devilish, 
whether in men or circumstances. Play games, for 
recreation, but not too seriously, because when they 
are serious they are neither quite games nor quite the 
real thing. The real thing is mastery, the power to 
use the world and all its resources, and hand it on 
improved to those who come after you. One joy of 
this mastery is what is called sport — the joy of pitting 
your courage, your endurance, or your skill against others, 
men, animals, or mechanisms ; better still if it is team 
work, and best of all if it is the great hazard of life and 
death, in the service of a cause that is worth a man’s life. 
To gain this mastery, to fit yourself for such a service, 
you must accept the training offered you, and you must 
help to train yourself ; learn to do everything that man 


283 


CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 

can do, learn the wood-craft of an Indian trapper 
and the multifarious handicrafts of a modern soldier ; 
learn to ride and run and march and swim, not for the 
sake of a prize or a record, but for the power to serve 
your country. Above all, learn to admire men and obey 
them, that in your time you may understand men and 
lead them ; learn the history and the languages of 
great nations ; learn the lives and the adventures of 
great men, and the thoughts and feelings they have 
recorded in their books ; learn to be a man yourself, 
not a half-developed or lop-sided creature, but a man 
full grown, full of all life that can be got from men and 
spent for men again. 

This organisation, this school for Happy Warriors, 
is open not only to English and Welsh, Scottish and 
Irish, not only to the nations of the Commonwealth, 
but to all nations whatever, and it has already been 
accepted by several who are not of our own kindred. 
It offers to the whole world what the old chivalry offered 
to a single class, a fighting ideal and a scientific training. 
The militarist will hate and fear it, for it forbids his 
existence : the pacifist will reject it, for it teaches clear 
instead of confused thinking, and service rather than 
personal salvation. But the great majority of our 
people will accept it readily, for it is in accordance 
with the tradition of one class and the instinct of all. 
From this time onward we may hope that the tradition 
will become the tradition of all ; it is vain to believe 
that it can ever be obsolete. The time may come when 
fighting will be infrequent, but so long as there remain 
in the world wild beasts, savages, maniacs, autocrats, 
and worshippers of Woden, there will always be the 
possibility of it, the necessity for the indignant heart 


284 CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY 

and the ready hand. And even if the possibility were 
done away, man must still keep the soldier’s faith, 
for human life itself is a warfare, in which there is no 
victory but by the soldier’s virtues, and no security 
but in their faithful transmission. Peace is given only 
to the Happy Warrior, in life or in death. 

HIC JACET 

Qui in hoc saeculo fideliter militavit. 

He that has left hereunder 
The signs of his release, 

Feared not the battle’s thunder 
Nor hoped that wars should cease ; 

No hatred set asunder 

His warfare from his peace. 

Nor feared he in his sleeping 
To dream his work undone, 

To hear the heathen sweeping 
Over the lands he won ; 

For he has left in keeping 
His sword unto his son 


AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS 

PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE, BALLANTYNE AND CO. LTD. 
COLCHESTER. LONDON AND ETON. ENGLAND 






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